To Begin Again
by mistopurr
Summary: Prejudice and hatred ripple through the Elven kingdom of Lindon. Oropher takes drastic measures to rescue his family, measures which will change their lives forever.
1. The Shadowed Star

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any characters that you recognise, of course, nor am I making anyprofit from this story. It is all for entertainment purposes – and I hope it does entertain you!

**Timeline: **This is set c. II 750, give or take a few decades! Because Tolkien gave us so few dates to work on with Legolas and his family, I have studied events they were involved with and come to the conclusion that Thranduil could have been born either in the First Age or the first thousand years of the Second. In my stories, his birth was around seven hundred years or so into the Second Age

**Warnings: **Surprisingly for me, there are none for this story! A few tears here and there, but nothing that requires you to be forewarned.

**Notes: **This is something different from what I normally do. I'm fed up with giving Legolas a new family structure for every story, so I've started work on a series in which his mother/siblings/etc will always stay the same. This is the first story, and I've planned many others which will take us up to the WOTR. I hope you enjoy!

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The cries of a woman were just audible from behind a set of heavy wooden doors which hid dramatic scenes from inside the birthing room of the healing wing in the fair city of Lindon. Elves forced to pass it on their travels did their utmost best to ignore the sounds of agony – unsurprisingly, males more so than females – by burying their faces into books which remained unread, or raising their voices to converse with companions who did not listen to the words spoken to them. Most of all, the passers-by kept their eyes averted. From the doors, and from the unfortunate family of the woman, who waited outside that infamous room.

Tonight, Lady Felith was the pained soul in question. Nobility herself since birth, she had married Lord Oropher, the eldest son of a once influential and well known house, some centuries after the Fall of Doriath at the end of the First Age. He had witnessed that devastating rape on the beautiful, once hidden, city. With his parents and grandparents slain, he had left for Lindon with his brother and then infant nephew, and a small number of survivors. Felith had been one of them, injured, afraid and alone. With experiences to share and pains too similar for them not to become inseparable, the pair had soon captured each other's hearts. Love had been inevitable, though marriage was held at bay by long years of friendship, courting and only then, true love. Now another five centuries on, their first child was being brought into the world. It was terrifying.

Oropher took a seat beside his nephew, but he was on his feet again in an instant as a piercing scream assaulted his sensitive ears. "Vehiron!" He spun to catch his brother's arm, barely noticing when the younger Elf patiently removed his fingers. "Vehiron, why is so much time passing by? Hours have gone, and I have yet to hear a child's cries. What is happening?"

"I am hungry." Those petulant words had come from the only youth present, Saeldur. Dark of hair and with sharp green eyes a shade lighter than his uncle and father's, the young Elf had been sitting in the corner in sulky silence since being snapped at a while back to stop lamenting over the book he had not brought with him. Apparently he could have finished it in the time they had been waiting. "It feels as though we have been here for days. I need food. I _want _food."

"Will you cease?" Vehiron asked quietly, though it was clear he had made no request. "If you have nothing civil to say, hold your tongue. You will not spoil what should be a happy occasion."

"Sorry," Saeldur muttered.

Oropher's eyes did not miss the face his nephew made as his brother turned away, but he dismissed it immediately. There were far more pressing matters at hand than an insolent boy. "Muindor-nín, please do not torture me by leaving my questions unanswered. What is happening to my wife and child? I must know."

"Of course," Vehiron empathised. "I have lived through it myself once already – and once was quite enough – so I do understand the many emotions you are feeling. Your fear is not a strange thing. On the contrary, it is natural. To _not _suffer it would be strange."

"So I have heard time and time again, though the words do little to assure me." Oropher raked both hands through his dark hair, a panicked gesture rarely seen in one so stoic, and gave the closed doors a baleful glance. "Why can I not see her? Felith needs me. She must be so afraid, surrounded by strange Elves and… Valar, _I _need to see _her_."

The younger of the two smiled, though it was faint as though the past held him tightly in an iron grip. "Do you recall Saeldur's birth? I tried to creep inside to see Telirias, and Mother gave me such a slap. She never struck me so hard even when we were Elflings. No, brother. Let the women tend to Felith. It is far safer – for you as well as her."

"Aye. Maybe you speak the truth," Oropher murmured. He considered this in silence for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its previous worry. "Listen to you. My little brother, giving _me _advice. Never did I think this day would come."

"No, but I was the first by many years to marry and father a child," Vehiron smiled. "You were too slow, my friend."

The older Elf returned the grin, the light banter drawing his attention and holding it away from Felith's cries in the room beyond. "Why rush when we live forever? My wife and I were quite happy to move slowly, thank you very much. We have not regretted it once."

"Would that I was able to speak the same words without lying," Vehiron said quietly. The light in his green eyes had dulled and intensified at the same time, as tumultuous emotions from a tragedy long past awoke in him. "Telirias and I… We did rush. We only had each other for a few short years before… I do regret that."

His wife and the mother of his only child had perished at the cruel hands of Orcs. He himself had come close to succumbing to his infinite grief, nearly letting it drag him into a dark and inescapable abyss. Were it not for his infant son, he surely would have lost his very life to sorrow. As the unspoken words and so much more hung in the air, Oropher touched a hand to his brother's shoulder. He did not need to say anything. He just waited for the younger Elf to swim through the mire of misery, and come back to the surface.

"Uncle?"

The addressed immortal felt a flash of irritation as his nephew's sulky voice broke the silence. He raised both eyes to find the boy standing expectantly at his side, and he bit off a "What is it?" with no smile to remove the edge.

"When your son or daughter arrives, will all of your time be taken up with it?" Saeldur asked quietly. "Will you spend all day and all night caring for it?"

"I do not doubt that when _he _or _she _is here, I will have much of my time taken away, yes," Oropher replied pointedly. He paused at the hurt which danced across the younger Elf's face, and some of the coldness left his own. "Do you fear our relationship will change, penneth? Do not think so. You are still my favourite nephew."

Though both his uncle and father smiled, Saeldur's green eyes narrowed to slits. "I am your _only_ nephew, and since you will not be receiving another one, you would do well _not_ to forget me."

"Child!" Vehiron's hand shot out faster than an arrow, and he gripped his son's upper arm, rendering escape an unthinkable option. "You and I will be having serious words when we get home if you do not change your attitude now. Oropher, forgive him. He is at an awkward age. Nevertheless, he should not be so disrespectful."

"No matter," Oropher murmured. He spoke slowly, as though in a dream state, and his eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon the closed doors. "Do you hear that? Silence. There is nothing to hear, just… Oh!"

As Felith's agonising cries were replaced by quiescence surely too deathly to be a good omen , Vehiron tensed. As that hollow emptiness was taken over by a babe's wails, a smile spread across his fair face. And as his brother wrenched open the doors and burst through them into the next room before a healer could even look out to admit them, a delightful laugh flowed from his lips. _The child has come! _He himself felt as much excitement as an Elfling at a Yule festival.

"Wonderful. Now we can return home."

The words cut into him like individual daggers, and the Elf's eyes were just as sharp as he pulled his son close to hiss against a pointed ear, "Don't you dare, Saeldur. Don't you dare. My brother and his wife have been awaiting this moment for too long, and you will not ruin it with your childish remarks. Do not forget that you are still young enough to be pulled over my knee."

At that threat, the young adolescent's green irises darkened in fear, and he tried to take a step backwards. _Tried_. "You would not?"

"You know I would, so do _not _challenge me," Vehiron snapped. "Now, get in that room. If there are no kind words from you, you _will_ feel my wrath. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Saeldur lowered his gaze to the floor, and raised a hand to rub ruefully at his shoulder, where his father's strong grip had surely left an imprint. _He did not have to do that, or threaten me. I am no Elfling. _"I am sorry, sir."

The older Elf's eyes narrowed, and they remained so as they watched his son enter the birthing room. Though he had not been told so outright, he had a fair idea as to the justification – if it could be called that – behind Saeldur's recent behaviour. Since coming to Lindon as a babe himself, he had been the only child in a close family of adults. Now he would have to share that with the new arrival. It was, perhaps, a selfish and immature reason, but it was a reason nonetheless, Vehiron acknowledged grudgingly.

'_I will speak with him,' _he thought, reluctance touching his silent vow._ 'He needs reassurance.'_

As he followed his only child's path into the room so often avoided by males, everything fled his mind like a rabbit chased by hounds. Felith was sat in the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back. Though perspiration drenched her slender frame, she was hale. In her arms lay the babe, silent now and wrapped in a soft cloth. Oropher knelt at the bedside, and as he raised his eyes to look at his brother, the younger sibling swore that he had caught a flash of delighted tears in the green pools. A fond smile touched his lips at the uncharacteristic emotions.

"Well?" he pressed gently. "Do not keep me waiting. What is it?"

"A little boy," Felith whispered. Loose strands of honey coloured hair hung in front of vivid blue eyes, forget-me-nots on a summer's day, and she raised an elegant hand to push them from her vision. It was a fast movement – she replaced her hand under the child's head as though afraid he would fall.

"A boy," Vehiron repeated softly, letting the word run off his tongue like syrup. "You have a son, brother."

Oropher was silent. He pushed the cloth back slightly to gaze into the babe's face, and a small, almost disbelieving smile flitted across his own fair one. "I do." His voice was husky, a rarely heard tone. "I do have a son."

"What name will you give him?"

The three Elves looked up as one, that soft voice pulling each away from the magic of the moment in an almost violent fashion. Vehiron could not help but wince at it. Though his hand had not come away from resting upon Saeldur's shoulder, he had forgotten that the boy was even there in the room with them. _No wonder he is assaulted by fears that he will be neglected by us. _The guilty father banished that equally guiltythought, and gently propelled his only child towards the bed.

"Look upon your cousin," he murmured. "You have not yet seen him."

Saeldur kept his eyes stubbornly averted until the curiosity which comes with youth got the better of him. He looked up, and immediately drew a sharp breath. It sounded loud in the quiet room. The babe was…tiny! And, he had to admit rather grudgingly, beautiful. Thin wisps of golden blond hair were dusted upon the infant's head, and eyes the shade of lapis gazed upwards. His lashes were long and dark, a pretty contrast to his otherwise fair colourings. Rosebud lips almost the hue of roses themselves were formed in a gentle pout; unbelievably small hands stuck out from the cloth.

"He…he is…" Saeldur shook his head slowly, unable to tear his gaze from the small creature before him. He looked positively shocked. "I have never before seen one. Pictures, yes, but never a real… How can something be such a size?"

"I am thankful he is," Felith replied dryly.

Vehiron grinned, and touched a feather light finger to one of the child's delicate ears. The point was barely visible yet. "He is truly beautiful. You must be so very proud to be his parents. He needs a name, though. Have you come to a decision, or was it made long ago?"

"Long ago. For a daughter we chose Vendethiel; for a son, Maethor." Oropher shook his head, and regarded the silent baby through worried eyes. "It is wrong, though. Maethor would not become him. We know that already."

"Did you have a second choice?" Vehiron pressed. When his question was met with an uncomfortable silence, he gave the new parents an emphatic smile, and continued gently: "It is no matter. A name – the _right _name – will come. Just give it some time and thought, and… Felith?"

The lady's blue eyes had drifted upwards in the direction of the window, and still they gazed out of the transparent sheets into the dark night sky far away. She chewed pensively on her lower lip with perfectly white teeth, quiescent, almost seemingly unaware that she had been addressed. It was not until a soft touch from her husband pulled her attention back to the three waiting Elves. She gave a rueful smile. "I was…thinking."

Oropher arched an eyebrow, and shared an unspoken look with Vehiron. "Oh. Dare we ask?"

"You need not sound so worried. I was recalling all of the names we have yet thought of, but none sound right. Not for him," Felith explained slowly, casting a tender look upon her son. "Then, I looked up. A cloud passed across the night sky, shielding the stars from my eyes, and… A name appeared in my mind."

"Tell me," Oropher whispered.

"Nay, I shied away from it, and I do not think it will be to your liking. It… No." The Elven woman turned her gaze away, and a faint blush made itself known upon her cheeks. Still she continued to gnaw upon her lip. "Forget I spoke, meleth-nín. Vehiron's words are true. The right name will come to us eventually."

"Not for a moment do I doubt that, but you do have me intrigued. Please, speak your mind," Oropher pressed. "It may be the perfect name for our son, yet how will we ever know if you remain silent? Maybe I will not approve of it. Maybe I will. Just, tell me."

"Thranduil."

"What?"

"I said-

The dark haired Elf raised one hand, cutting his wife off mid-sentence. He looked truly stunned; again, it was a rare expression to be found upon him. "No, no. I heard what you said, I…I just…" Silence fell. As he stared at his tiny son, the tense anticipation in the room felt almost physical. Even the healers working quietly around the family did so with bated breath.

"Uncle?" Saeldur began plaintively, "he does need a name before his first Begetting Day."

Rather than chastising his son's bluntness, Vehiron nodded agreement. "It is very true. Come, we are as eager for a decision to be made as you are. What think you of your wife's choice?"

Oropher looked up from the baby, and met Felith's blue eyes with his own emerald ones. As their gazes locked, he graced her with a tender smile. "I think," he murmured, "that the name is perfect. It far exceeds anything – everything – else that we have yet thought of. I do like it, darling. Of course I do."

The Elven woman laughed, a joyous sound like the tinkling of silver bells, and bestowed a kiss first upon her husband's forehead, then her son's. Though weary from long and painful hours of birth, she did not appear to be anywhere near ready to embrace sleep. Indeed her already bright eyes sparkled with renewed light, and a healthy flush had returned to her face. She would, Vehiron reflected as he and his own child moved away from the new parents, suit motherhood well.

"I like the name," Saeldur admitted quietly. "I think it will suit him."

"Aye, they have made a good choice." The older Elf paused, and his gaze travelled towards the window. The cloud hiding the stars had moved on; the tiny beacons shone like a thousand winking eyes. "Star-shadow. It is beautiful, but I wonder if it may be a portent of things to come."

"What do you…? Why?"

With a final glance at his brother and the new babe, Vehiron touched a hand to Saeldur's shoulder, gently guiding him from the room. His voice, as he spoke, was pensive. "Fair and dark. Light and shadow. Good and evil. Like the meaning of his name, these are sharp contrasts. No doubt I am wrong, but Felith may well have some maternal foresight in her. If so, I think that small child in there will one day grow up to have such a contrast as a great part of his life. And he will devote much to it."

Saeldur was silent as he struggled to comprehend the words, but they made little sense to him. As he said as much, his father started as though coming out of a deep reverie, and gave a quiet laugh. No, he did not understand it either. But he knew, somehow, that the future of Thranduil Oropherion was bathed in beautiful white light, and shrouded in darkness and pain too.

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After their arrival in the city of Lindon from a destroyed Doriath, many Sindarin nobles – though they held no power in their new home – employed unnecessary numbers of serving staff to wait on them in houses far more majestic than they had previously owned. None, even themselves, truly understood why they insisted upon such pomp; although it was thought to be their way of showing the Noldor they now dwelt with that they were no less inferior, that they were equals. An understandable reason, perhaps, as the old division between the Noldor and Sindar had been devastating in the past. Now they wanted security, and paid high prices for it too.

Oropher and Felith, however, had not demanded such pageantry for themselves. Servants were not for them. They were not royalty, they said, and so they would not raise themselves onto invisible pedestals to be waited on hand and foot. And though they lived in a large house near to the palace, where Oropher represented the Sindar of Lindon as a councillor to the High King, they had just one maid who worked less days than she did more, and only then when the chores became one too many.

Even the cooking Felith undertook herself. She enjoyed it – apparently it was a relaxing pastime – and much of her time was spent in the kitchen. So it was that when Thranduil was brought home for the first time and a small family gathering was held as celebration, she prepared the meals alone, despite her husband's vehement protestations that she should rest. A roasted pheasant there was, with vegetables and a sauce spiced with strange herbs; fruit pies also, with warm elderflower cream on the side. It was as though she had never spent hours giving birth just a few short days back.

"You surprise me every time," Vehiron remarked, as he pushed his empty dessert plate away. "Would that I had your talents in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Saeldur and I too often find ourselves relying on the cook."

"I thank you, but your praise is unwarranted," Felith smiled. "As for your poor culinary skills, I have offered to share my knowledge, yet always you refuse it."

"Well, yes," the dark haired Elf nodded. "I have no wish to don an apron!"

There was laughter from around the table, the sort which dies away after a few seconds with subtle traces of its existence left behind – a barely audible chuckle, a faint smile upon a face flushed with amusement – as normal conversation is resumed. Wine was poured into three of the four goblets on the table; as Oropher received his, he gave his brother a sideways look. In spite of the humour less than a minute back, his expression was strangely serious.

"How go the councils with High King Gil-galad in my absence?"

"Do you miss them so terribly already?" Vehiron jested. "Or, do you doubt my ability to speak for the Sindar in your stead?"

Though Oropher gave a smile, it did not quite reach his green eyes. "Neither," he replied quietly. "I know what happens if we do not present our arguments correctly, and defend ourselves strongly enough. There are too few Sindarin Elves here, too many Noldor."

"We are not in a war," Felith chided gently.

On the other side of the table, Saeldur looked up in interested. He allowed a second to pass by, lest one of his elders had something to say, before voicing his thoughts. "Why did you ask, Uncle? Would High King Gil-galad treat us unfairly if he could? I thought he was a fair ruler."

"He is," Vehiron murmured, "but his Noldor advisors are not too fond of us."

"You speak lightly, brother. 'Not too fond'? I would be loath to use those words," Oropher snorted. "They look down on us as if we are scum, but they have no reason and no reason at _all _to do so. We must all live in the same city, though they cannot accept that. They seem to think we are just lodgers. No, Gil-galad is not the problem, Saeldur."

"Then, I do not understand."

Vehiron pushed his goblet of wine from one hand to the other, rolling the smooth vessel almost noiselessly across the table top. He gazed into the red depths of the wine, as though an easy explanation lay hidden there. "If a king has ten advisors who suggest he should raise taxes, and just two who believe he should lower them, which path would he be more inclined to follow, ion-nín?"

"He would raise the taxes," Saeldur replied slowly.

"Exactly. Ruling a kingdom cannot be an easy task, and that is why advisors and councillors exist," Oropher continued. "They help the king make decisions, although those decisions are not always right – especially so when the king listens more to persuasive voices than his own heart."

"Is Gil-galad guilty of that?" Felith contributed. She tried her best to avoid politics, but with both her husband and brother-in-law involved with affairs of the kingdom, it was often impossible not to become tangled in the web herself.

Vehiron glanced at Oropher, and they both nodded an affirmative. "Yes, unfortunately for us," the younger of the two sighed. "Do not forget that he was born only near the end of the First Age. He is young, and young kings can rule too recklessly, refusing help, or too guided, accepting too much help than is good for them. He falls into the latter category."

"Perhaps you should be thankful," Felith suggested softly. "It is the lesser of two evils, I deem."

"Maybe." Despite that, Vehiron did not look convinced. He played with his wine goblet a moment longer before setting it down and turning a smouldering green gaze upon his elder brother. "Do you recall Melthoron? The brown haired one, quiet, almost timid? He revealed a different side to himself the day before yesterday. He raised the subject of King Thingol's ban of Quenya in Doriath."

Saeldur chanced a glance at Oropher. His uncle was silently seething, emerald eyes narrowed to mere slits. "What happened, Ada?"

"He suggested that Gil-galad return the favour and ban the use of Sindarin," Vehiron answered. His voice was quiet, quietly furious. "I always thought Melthoron was one of the more sympathetic Noldorin advisors, but Valar, I was very wrong. Thankfully, the High King took that as a slight against us, and suitably rebuked Melthoron. As did Lord Elrond."

"An ally?" Saeldur pressed eagerly.

"For all the good it will do us! Though he is Gil-galad's herald and close confidante, he spends much time away from Lindon," Oropher snapped. "He is looking to build an Elven refuge somewhere to the west."

"Quiet," Felith hissed. "You will disturb-

Her warning came too late. A basket made of wicker wood sat a short way away from the table, and sure enough, an infant's wails filled the room in an instant. As baby Thranduil wept as though his continued existence depended upon it, three pairs of exasperated Elven eyes turned upon Oropher. He met them all with a muttered apology, before pushing his chair back and going towards the basket. Kneeling beside it, he lifted his small son out and held him close.

"Did Ada wake you?" he whispered. "Oh my beautiful child, I am sorry. Hush, hush. Stop your tears, Ada was just being silly."

Vehiron gave a soft laugh as his brother kissed Thranduil's forehead, though it was not mocking. He had grown up with Oropher, but the older Elf had never shown such a display before – to his younger sibling, his nephew, anyone. Affection, especially affection this tender, was rare. To see it in him now, so open, warmed the heart in a way that fire in a hearth could not.

"He was not so sensitive to me even in the early days of our courtship," Felith confided in a low voice. In spite of the words, her voice was warm. "This side of him I adore."

"That does not surprise me," Vehiron agreed.

Thranduil's wails had not subsided. If anything, they had increased. Shifting him from one arm to the other, Oropher rose and faced the table helplessly. "What can I do? He will not stop crying. Am I not holding him correctly?"

"You are," Felith answered quickly. "Mayhap his cloth needs to be changed."

"I do not think so. Could he just be angry that he was woken?" the dark haired Elf wondered aloud. "Is he hurt? Are you _sure_ that this is the appropriate way to hold him?"

Vehiron watched the new parents flounder for a few seconds, only vaguely amused at their struggles, before suggesting quietly: "Neither of you have yet considered the obvious problem, have you? He needs feeding. He is hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Give him food," Saeldur suggested.

Oropher held his still screaming son out to Felith; as she rose and settled herself in an overstuffed armchair to carry out her maternal tasks, Vehiron moved his chair closer to his own child's. A soft touch on the adolescent's arm drew green eyes towards his own emerald gaze. A moment's panic flashed across the younger Elf's face – he feared a rebuke in light of his blunt statement – but a smile from his father put him at ease.

"Worry not, you have done nothing wrong," Vehiron began quietly. "I just thought we should take this opportunity to talk. We have not had the chance to do so since Thranduil was born. Indeed, your behaviour on the night of his birth, the weeks leading up to it, was not acceptable."

"I apologised for-

"You did, I have not forgotten that," the older Sinda acknowledged. "But, why did you have to? All your life you have been spoilt, I will not deny that, but you have never been rude and disrespectful. Why now?"

"I thought you said I had not done anything wrong," Saeldur protested. "You are angry with me."

Vehiron raised a hand, and his eyes flashed in silent warning. "I did not ask for your defence, ion-nín. I asked for your reasoning. Answer my question, please. Why now?"

Over in the corner of the room, Thranduil had quietened now that his mother had given into his demands. With an expression that was close to desperate embarrassment, Saeldur watched his infant cousin. "Ada, I am ashamed to say it," he murmured. "You will either laugh at me or shout at me, and I am unsure which would be worse." He paused, and lowered his gaze slightly to stare at the back of his hands. "I just… I have always been the youngest, and yes, I am spoilt. I didn't want that to change, and I thought the new baby would… I don't know. I thought he would take my place."

"Then, it is as I feared," Vehiron sighed. "You were afraid that we would neglect you."

"I am sorry."

"No, do not apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for. This is my fault, I should have realised sooner." Silence fell between father and son, broken only at intervals by a hushed word from Oropher and Felith as they held their own soft conversation. When Vehiron spoke a moment later, his voice was tinged with accusation. "Why did you not say anything? You could have come to me, or even your aunt and uncle. We are your family. We would have understood."

"I did try!" Saeldur challenged vehemently, "for all the good it did me. You missed my archery tournament last month because you were busy building the nursery with Uncle Oropher. When I came to remind you, all I received for my troubles was a harsh command to stop thinking of myself. You know how I hate archery, especially when all the other fathers attend. I thought your presence might help me."

Vehiron looked genuinely surprised at the revelation that he had missed an event so important to the boy. He struggled to find the right words to speak, unsure of anything which would ease the hurt expression on his only child's face. He lifted his goblet and took a sip of spiced wine, the action buying him a few precious seconds longer to contemplate the situation and an escape route not yet clear.

"And that was not the worst you did, though it stung enough," Saeldur continued, his voice a mere whisper. "You always walk with me to the library when I have books to return, so I do not have to pass through the city alone. Last week you forgot to meet me. You were so caught up in preparing for the birth of your nephew that you _forgot_ your _son_. I did feel neglected, and if that sounds selfish to you, I am sorry."

The painful silence from Vehiron continued for time uncountable. He was in shock. Yes, he had been as excited by Thranduil's impending birth as Oropher and Felith, but surely not so much that he had forgotten… As the truth hit him, he leaned forwards and pulled Saeldur to him almost violently in a tight embrace. He heard the younger Elf gasp, but he did not relinquish his hold, as though the strength of it would somehow make amends. He knew it would not, though. It would take a lot more than that to redeem himself and his actions. Not just in his son's eyes, but in his too.

"Valar, I am so sorry," he whispered into the raven hair that mingled with his own. "This will never happen again, ion-nin. Never."

Saeldur said nothing. His arms snaked around his father's waist, and he too held on the way he would a piece of debris in the ocean. There was no need for him to say anything. It had been too long since he and Vehiron had shared each other's company so closely, and the moment was far too rare to just be thrown away. As a gentle kiss was placed upon the top of his head, a smile slipped across his face. _I missed this. I missed you, Ada. _

As his son responded to the embrace, Vehiron released a soft breath he had not realised he was holding. Saeldur had forgiven him, though a voice in the back of his mind told him he did not deserve such mercy. He did not bother to push it away – he had earned that verbal punishment. As he raised green eyes, they met a similar pair across the room. Oropher caught his gaze and gave a delicate arch of one eyebrow, silently testing the waters of the situation. The younger brother just smiled.

"I think it is time for us to be leaving," he said quietly. As he pulled back from the embrace, his child flashed him a bemused glance. "I am sure we can find a chess board at home, and partake in a few games. Failing that, do you still have any wood carvings left which you need help with?"

"It is yet early," Saeldur pointed out.

"I know, but you and I have much to catch up on. I have made enough mistakes in recent weeks, and I will amend those," Vehiron promised. "I am sorry, penneth, for hurting you. I want you to see that."

The younger Elf smiled, and rose as his father did the same. "I do," he murmured. "I do, Ada."

Goodbyes and farewell kisses passed through the family of fair immortals; and the door which Oropher opened to let his brother and nephew out into the cool evening air allowed in a gentle breeze that caressed the long tendrils of his hair, pulling black strands upwards to tickle him like thin fingers. He did not bother to rearrange them. He knew Felith would make a fuss over it when he returned to her side, and her touch running through his hair made him shiver the way any kiss could. Not only her touch. Just looking at her sent pleasant prickles up and down his spine, and some nights when she had long lain in slumber, he found himself unable to enter the world of dreams, struck even after centuries by the beauty that lay before him.

Now, as he paused in the doorway to look upon his wife curled up in the armchair with their infant son nestled securely in her arms, an emotion different to any other washed over him like waves hitting the golden sands of a beach. Pride. A fierce desire to protect Felith and the child from any evil. Adoration. Awe that such creatures were his. It was love, unadulterated, in its purest form. It was the first time in his immortal life that he had been so assaulted, but it was a feeling he knew would stay with him forever, perhaps not always so blindingly clear, but always present in the deepest part of his soul, a love that would help him overcome every obstacle thrown in his path and keep him dry when the rain came down. The love of a family.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The months passed too swiftly by far for Oropher and Felith, and though their son was still no more than a babe, more and more milestones were becoming just a part of their memories to look back on with eyes lit with tenderness. Thranduil's first smile. His first laugh. His first tooth. Those firsts fast became seconds, and those seconds became thirds. Now, a year on, the child was a master of crawling. Soon he would be taking his first steps. Then his second, then his third, then his…

Felith blinked, pulling herself from the almost sorrowful reverie as she stood in the large kitchen of her home, the place she so often named a lady's domain. It did not do to dwell on the inevitable, the unstoppable. It did not do at all. She allowed herself a rueful smile, and poured out a measure of deep red wine. Though her fingers wrapped around the flute, she did not lift the goblet. She was waiting.

Oropher was once again immersed in counselling High King Gil-galad at the palace; though he would never relinquish the job, he despised it. Meetings and councils lasted for longer periods of time than ever before, and the rivalry between the Noldor and Sindar was stretched to extremes. Ridiculous extremes. In the mornings he left early, in the evenings he returned late. It was not a routine either he or his wife had ever wanted for themselves, especially with a child in their lives, but there was no escaping it.

A long exhalation shaded with dark regret left Felith's lips, and she raised her goblet of wine. The crimson liquid winked at her, its pungent smells of blackberry and honey playing gentle games with her senses, silently calling her to drink. _No! He will be home soon. _It was late, later than usual. Oropher would not keep his family waiting if he could avoid it. _If._

Indeed, the door swung inwards mere seconds after the sorrowful thought flitted across her mind. A gust of wind from outside drifted in too, an unwelcome visitor, catching long Elven hair and garments, noiselessly wrestling with them. Felith brushed her sandy locks back into place with slender fingers, and fixed her eyes upon the newcomer. Her husband. Making good use of the talent inborn into every woman, mortal or immortal, she said nothing. One look carried greater weight than any number of words.

"Forgive me, meleth," Oropher sighed. "I tried to escape earlier, but the High King would not adjourn."

"Someone should have very sharp words with him concerning his councils. He may not have family," Felith said shortly, "but his advisors do. Valar, I should not say that, but… Is Vehiron home? I hate to think of Saeldur alone again."

The dark haired Elf nodded, and tapped his fingers absently against the wall. Though he addressed his wife over the gentle, percussive rhythm, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. "Aye. He reached his home, and Saeldur was fine. Curled up by the fire with one of his books."

"Good. At least _he _had something to take his mind away from the solitude," Felith murmured. She gestured to the goblet standing between them on the table, and watched Oropher carefully as he took it. "What is in your head? I hope it is not your fool idea again."

"Why do you name it so?"

"Because that is what it is! I know you are unhappy in Lindon, but leaving for another home… It is preposterous," the lady hissed. "Had you suggested it before a child came into our lives, maybe I would have agreed. As it is, you do choose your moments poorly. We have a son now, responsibilities. We cannot think of ourselves."

"I do know that, and I do not dispute it," Oropher acknowledged with an incline of his dark head. "However, I am thinking of Thranduil also. I would rather he grew up in a place where prejudice did not exist."

"No." Felith's voice brooked no argument. "He is an infant."

Oropher slammed his goblet onto the table, and untouched wine ran over the rim in rivulets. He ignored it, turning away from his wife and attacking the opposite wall with his green glare. "I will not mention it again," he snapped. "Of course you speak truly. It would be wrong of us to drag Thranduil all the way across Arda, despite it being for his benefit as well as ours. Yes, you are right."

His tirade was greeted with silence, and Felith shifted uncertainly in its wake. "You are angry," she noted softly.

"Yes."

"With me."

"No." Oropher turned back to face the Elven woman. Though he smiled at her, his eyes were cold enough to betray him. "You are thinking of our son, and how can I fault that when I am doing the very same? No, I am not angry with you. I am angry with…the situation."

Felith let out a long exhalation of breath, and lowered her eyes until they rested upon her husband's abandoned goblet. She was unsure of how to go about consoling him, afraid that any words she spoke would darken his mood rather than lighten it. "Drink your wine." It was not the first thing to enter her mind, though it seemed the safest. "Mayhap it will calm you."

"No, thank you," Oropher sighed. "Where is Thranduil? Looking upon him is more calming than any drink. I have not seen him today."

"He is asleep. He has been restless since this afternoon, and it took me a long while to get him settled," Felith replied quietly. "Try not to wake him."

As her husband nodded acquiescence and left the kitchen, the fair lady set about cleaning up his spilt wine. She felt badly for dictating to Oropher that he could not see his own son awake, but she did not want an irritable infant on her hands tonight. If only the child's father could spend less time at the palace and more at home. Thoughts of leaving Lindon drifted into her mind, uncalled, unwanted, but too seductive to ignore. _No! We cannot leave. This is our home. We cannot. _Despite the vehemence of her silent protestations, the musings were not vanquished.

On the upper floor of his house, Oropher's thoughts also were dark as he walked along the corridor towards the nursery. The situation was worsening. Intimidated by Gil-galad's numerous Noldor advisors, many of the Sindar who counselled him had resigned from their posts, leaving just a handful behind. The opposition – it _did_ feel like a war at times – used this to their advantage, becoming almost brutal as they countered their Sindarin colleagues' points with others of their own. They were close to… Oropher hesitated to use the word, but they were close to cruel.

He allowed a deep sigh to rush from his lips as he reached the nursery, but opening the door and looking upon his young son cut the exhalation off before it could progress any further. A wooden cot, carved by Oropher himself with some help from Vehiron, sat against the far wall. He took silent steps towards it, savouring the warmth which came and chased away the cold from his heart, and marvelling at it simultaneously. Even Felith could not sway his moods so easily.

"How do you do it, penneth?" he murmured.

Thranduil did not stir. He lay on his back, cerulean eyes closed to the world as he slept, as is the way with Elven children. One small hand was tightly clutching a soft toy in the vague shape of a horse; the other curled into a fist and firmly planted in his mouth. Oropher leant over the side of the cot to remove it, but he stopped himself just in time. He could not disturb his son. The infant looked like a porcelain doll. Another sigh left the Elf's lips, and he noted absently that it seemed to be happening a lot recently. Leaving Lindon was the only solution visible to his eyes, but deep down he knew that he had to accept what Felith had said. Travelling across Middle-earth with Thranduil would be both unfair and dangerous. He _was _just a baby.

"Not forever, though," Oropher said quietly. He rested his hands on the wooden rail of the cot, looking down at his son with steely determination in his bright eyes. "A time will come when you are of an age to travel, and when that time comes, Lindon will become a part of our history. I swear."

Blissfully oblivious to the oath sworn above him, Thranduil slept on.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Well, as I mentioned above, this is the first instalment in a long series documenting the lives of both Thranduil and Legolas. There are more chapters to this story, which follows Oropher on his journey to Greenwood, and also serves as an introduction to OC's who will play parts in later stories. I will be updating every week starting in the New Year, as I'm going to Austria at the end of this month for a week. To the people who read my last story and were promised something new at the end of April… I am so sorry! I tried so hard to stick to my word, but I had so many problems with what I was writing. I hope this story and those that follow it live up to your expectations of me, and I hope also to hear from returning readers!**

**Luv, **

**Misto**

**x-x **


	2. Altercations

**2**

If Oropher and Felith had been surprised by how the months leading away from their son's birth sped by, they were positively shocked as those months turned into years. Begetting Day after Begetting Day came and went like waves on a beach; and as Thranduil turned from an infant into a toddler and from a toddler into an Elfling, his parents found themselves regretting – even his father – every moment they had ever wished for him to grow up just a small bit. Even for Elves, the time had flown past. Though of course he was older than seven summers, to any mortal who looked upon him, that was how Thranduil appeared to them. Silky golden hair which hung just below his shoulders framed a cherubic face, and over the years his dark blue eyes had lightened several shades to the colour of cerulean. Just one week ago, the first of his teeth had begun to wobble; now he had a habit of poking his tongue against it, though his mother told him it was undignified. He just shrugged when her back was turned. What did Elflings care for dignity?

His life, on the whole, was a fairly secluded one. Where other children his age attended communal lessons to learn words, numbers and history, he was taught at home by Felith. Interacting with the other children sounded something he would enjoy, but every time he brought it up in conversation, his father would mutter something about Sindar and Noldor, and quickly change the subject. He did not mind awfully. It was the only thing he had ever known, and his parents clearly thought that keeping him solitary was for the best. He would not dispute what they deemed to be right.

Nevertheless, it was with a slightly heavy heart that he stepped onto the archery field with Oropher to see a small group of Elflings nearby. They were often there, though he had never plucked up the courage to approach them. Perhaps today… His father stopped a short way from a target specifically designed for a child's height, and he fiddled absently with his small bow as he considered the situation.

"Ada." Well, at least that was a start. Questioning green eyes turned upon him, and he took a deep breath before ploughing ahead with his thoughts. "Ada, we have been coming here for a few weeks now, and nearly every time I see those other children. I was wondering if… Do you think I could play with them?"

"No!"

Thranduil blinked at the harsh reply; his eyes were wide as he continued. "Why do you sound angry? They are all my age, and they look friendly. I do like being with you, but it would be nice to have other Elflings to-

"Did you not hear what I said?" Oropher broke in sharply. "I gave you an answer, and you will not dispute it. No, you cannot play with them. They are Noldor. You are Sindar. With the way things are in the kingdom, it would not be right."

"Why…?" Thranduil snapped his mouth shut at the warning which flashed across his father's face. He had questions, but they could keep. He had no wish to spoil the morning with his childish naivety. "It doesn't matter, then. I don't want to argue today."

"A good idea," the dark haired Elf murmured. He pushed his son a few steps closer to the target, and surreptitiously cast his gaze over the nearby Elflings as his own notched a harmless arrow. They did look friendly enough, but one could never know with the Noldor. "Pull your arm back further, ion-nin. How many times have you been told that?"

Unseen, the boy narrowed his eyes slightly as he obeyed the direction. He _was _often picked up on for his poor stance, but as a defence, standing in one position for too long became painful for his muscles. Jumping ahead so his father could not mention anything else he might be doing wrong, he straightened as though held up by a string, and moved his feet so that they were further apart. There. Perfect.

"Good," Oropher praised. "Before we start, though, there is just one thing. Stop pushing your tongue against that loose tooth. It is a distraction, and your attention must be focused unwaveringly on the bow, the arrow and the target. Nothing else. Understood?"

"Yes." The word came out a sigh. "I do."

The older Elf nodded his approval, and took a step back to allow his son the space needed to release the arrow. As he waited, his eyes travelled towards the group of Elflings once more. They were watching him in return, their eyes unnervingly cold for children. It came as little surprise, though. Now that he had time to study them, he saw that they were the sons and daughters of Noldorin advisors, Elves he worked with on an almost daily basis. No doubt they had poisoned their offspring's minds with stories of the Sindar and-

"Ada!"

Oropher blinked himself out of reverie, and looked down at his only child. The boy no longer held an arrow. "What?" He glanced at the target, and forced a smile upon his face. The arrow had nearly hit the centre. "That was wonderful, penneth. Well done."

"You did not see," Thranduil admonished quietly. "You missed it."

"No, no. I saw. It was a shot to be proud of, truly. Try a second one," Oropher encouraged the Elfling. "Try and hit the centre this time."

He kept his eyes fastened on his son, but the sound of laughter from just across the field drew his gaze away. It was the Noldor Elflings. Small hands were raised to just visible smirking mouths, and he could see that their cruel eyes were fixed upon the only Sindarin child on the training field – _his _child. A bubble of anger rose in his chest, uncontrollable. Perhaps Thranduil's aim had been slightly off the mark, but for his age, it was commendable. They had _no_ reason to taunt him. No reason at all.

"Ada!"

Again, Oropher blinked as the voice broke into his thoughts. This time, though, he did not lower his gaze. "What is it, penneth?"

"You missed my shot! Were you not watching me? Ada!" Thranduil stared at his father in silent anger before childish confusion softened his expression. "What are you looking at?"

The child started to turn. Before he could get very far, Oropher's hand flew down to rest on his shoulder, stilling him. "Nothing. Nothing, I was distracted. I did miss that one, for which I am sorry. Try again. You have my word I will watch."

"No," Thranduil sighed. "My arrow did not even hit the target as I was too busy worrying that you were not paying attention. It landed somewhere over there." He waved his hand in the vague direction of the Noldor Elflings. "If they were my friends, they would watch me. They would not be distracted as _you _have. I want to go home now."

"There is no need for that. We have only just arrived. I have apologised already and promised to watch. What more would you have from me?" As his son's shoulders were stubbornly squared, Oropher turned his eyes skywards in exasperation. An image of some years onwards when the child would become an adolescent flashed into his mind. He did not look forward to that. "Very well, if this is what you want. I will retrieve your arrow, and you can… No. You will retrieve your arrow."

"I thought you did not want me to mix with the Noldor," Thranduil said suspiciously. "I would have to walk right past them."

"Precisely." Though he had suggested it, the idea did not sit too well with Oropher. Still, if he wanted his son to learn… "Perhaps you will be proven wrong in your thoughts towards them. Then again, perhaps not. We shall see."

A few seconds passed as the Elfling considered that in silence. Then he put down his bow and walked away across the field without a backward glance. He could sense his father's eyes on his back, could see the other children watching him draw nearer, but he held his head up high nonetheless. _He _would be proven right, not Oropher. He was sure of it. Indeed, as he approached the Noldor, he was given more than one smile. _See, Ada? They are friendly, after all. _

"Hello," he began, as he came to a halt before them. "I came to get my arrow."

Five pairs of eyes just stared back in reply. Two belonged to twin girls, slightly older than he with waist length copper hair. The youngest boy was his own age, and, he thought, the brother of the girls. All three had the same vividly bright hair and green gazes. Two boys remained, and it was the eldest, who evidently used his seniority to elevate himself to the position of leader of the small group, who spoke first.

"Let me help you," he offered. He leant down and picked up the arrow; as he held it out to the newcomer, a smile touched his lips. "Here."

Pleasantly surprised, Thranduil returned the smile, silently hoping that his father was watching. He reached out to take the proffered object, but no sooner had his fingers grazed it than it was dropped to the floor again. Eyes the colour of a summer's day narrowed in confusion – Elves were not clumsy creatures – but nonetheless, he in turn leant to pick it up once more. They widened in shock a second later as a foot just missed his hand and kicked the arrow away.

"What are you doing? That's mine," Thranduil said angrily, straightening. "You have no right to-

"We were here first. This is our part of the archery field, so you stick to your own. Not," the older Elfling sneered, "that you should be allowed here anyway. If you have no talent with the bow, you should not be here."

"I may not be wonderful, but nor am I as poor as you believe. My father thinks I have talent," Thranduil defended heatedly. That last was the wrong thing to say. As the others laughed cruelly, a pink tinge coloured his cheeks, and he struggled to capture their attention once more. "Why are you…? Stop that, its not… Stop it!"

The leader of the group looked back at him; though he spoke, the occasional chuckle left his lips. "Do you always listen to what your ada says?" he crowed. "He lies to you, and you are a fool if you believe him. Your archery truly is poor. Trust me."

"That's not true," Thranduil whispered. "It was just one mistake."

One of the girls stepped forwards to gaze into his face, and he turned his head sharply to hide the damp glistening in his eyes. "Oh, Morifwen," she giggled. "You really must stop. You have made him cry!"

"Good." The boy called Morifwen gestured at his friend to move away, and he himself came closer to the Sinda child. His next words were only for the pair of them, as hushed as a gentle breeze. "What else does your ada tell you? Does he say that you belong here, that this is your home? Do not believe that either. You will never be welcome here."

That was too much. Forgetting the arrow lying some feet away, Thranduil spun on his heel and ran from the group of Elflings as fast as his legs could carry him, though mocking laughter rang loudly and painfully in his ears no matter how many steps he took. Tears blurred his vision, and as they fell, more and more came in their stead. He was confused. The truth was that he had a narrow minded view of the world and its workings. Evil had no place in his mind; it was not something he had any knowledge of. Why? Because he was a child. Innocence had so far categorised everything and everyone – Elves especially – as good creatures, just existing together and living their lives side by side. He had never before encountered any prejudice, so shielded was his life. Now he had, and he didn't know what to do.

"Stop!" A hand caught the back of his tunic, pulling him to a halt, and a sharp gasp of surprise fled his lips. He had not realised that he had run past his father. The older Elf turned him around and knelt so that their gazes were on a level; though he tried desperately to stop his flow of tears, they did not obey him. Eyes the colour of emerald widened slightly before him, and then they were hard, cold.

"What did they say?" Oropher whispered. "What did they say to you?"

"I don't… They just…" Thranduil shook his head, struggling to sort his tumbling thoughts into some semblance of order. He could not. "It's nothing; I want to go. Will you take me home? Please."

His son choked on a son, and the dark haired immortal snapped his head around to glare at the Noldorin children. They met his gaze insolently for just a few seconds before the force of his wrath slammed into them, and they seemed to realise just how dangerous a position they were in. Even Morifwen ran. Oropher snarled quietly after their retreating backs. He never disciplined his own child with physical punishment, but if any of those had belonged to him… For their sakes as well as his own, he was glad they were another Elf's trouble.

He turned back to Thranduil, and the sorrow painted onto that youthful face made his heart constrict painfully. Such grief was rarely worn so openly. "Ion-nín," he began quietly. "I know that you spoke with them. I saw it. All I want is to know the words they uttered which caused you such sadness. Tell me. Come, you need not be afraid any longer. They have gone."

The Elfling chanced a glance over his father's shoulder. Seeing that his tormentors had indeed left seemed to renew his confidence, though only slightly. When he spoke, his voice was merely a breath of air. "They laughed at me because my arrow missed the target, and they said that I have no talent, that you lie to me. I don't believe that you lie, but… And they said…"

"What did they say?" Oropher pressed gently.

"I don't belong in Lindon. I will never be welcome here," Thranduil whispered.

The older Elf spat a curse before he could stop himself. Blue eyes widened in both fear and shock, and it was all he could do not to slam a fist against the ground. Instead he pulled his child almost violently to him, pouring all of his emotions into that embrace. Fury. Sorrow. Disbelief. All conceived by the knowledge that even Elflings were becoming caught up and corrupted by the games played in the court of Lindon.

"I am sorry," Thranduil breathed against his father's chest. "I should not have wanted to speak with them as I did."

"Penneth, my anger is not directed at you. _I _am the one who should be sorry, and believe me, I truly am. For everything," Oropher sighed. "But now you know. You see why your mother and I keep you away from the Noldor children, because you will only be hurt. Do you understand why the Sindar must keep to themselves?"

"No! I do not! You always speak of us and the Noldor as though we are different, as though we are different races altogether, but we are the same." Thranduil pulled himself out of the embrace, and rubbed the back of his hand roughly over his damp cheeks. "Our histories may not be the same, our views and beliefs, but we are all Elves. What does it matter than I am a Sinda? Why should we care that Morifwen is a Noldo? No, Ada. I don't understand. I don't want to."

Had it been any other time, Oropher would have delivered a reprimand for his son's outburst, but he knew better now. The boy was upset, and emotions too easily take over rational thought. "That is as may be, but you must accept that there will always be a division between us. It has been so for many years now, ever since the Sons of Fëanor… One day you will learn for yourself."

"I don't want to," Thranduil reiterated quietly. "I want to go home now."

"As you wish. I think, though, that perhaps you should busy yourself elsewhere whilst I explain this to your mother." Oropher grimaced slightly. He did not look forward to that. "Why not go to the marketplace and look around the stalls? Saeldur will take you, I am sure."

Momentary silence, and the blond head shook just once. "No. I don't have any coins."

"That is no worry. I am happy to give you some." The father regarded his still dispirited son for a moment, before reaching down to lift the Elfling, bow and all, into strong arms. "I know you have had a shock and I know it upset you, but it has happened. We cannot change that. You just have to try and push it from your mind. Can you do that for me?"

"I can try," Thranduil muttered.

Oropher's reply was a soft smile, though it faded into glacial coldness as he carried his small child across the archery field and back to their home in the city. _Damn those Noldorin Elflings. Damn their parents for raising them to be so prejudiced. Damn the situation! _As the furious thoughts swirled through his mind, his green eyes narrowed to mere slits. Now that the next generation had become involved, the game had suddenly shot to a whole new tier, one from which he and his family had to escape.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Just after the sun's position in the sky announced midday, Saeldur was to be found loitering outside his uncle's house, one booted foot resting lazily on the wall as he waited for his cousin to make an appearance. Oropher had been most insistent when asking – it had been more of an order than a request – him to take Thranduil to the marketplace. To begin with, he had politely refused. Now that he was considered an adult, albeit a very young one, he had started an apprenticeship at the palace library with the scholars. Immersing himself in a world of books provided escapism from his own, and to be dragged back into reality only to take his irritating young relative out for the afternoon did not sit well with him.

Apparently there had been some upsetting incident on the archery field, although he had wasted no time pressing for details. No doubt it had been similar if not identical to all the other events which had gone before, events which he too had sometimes been part of: Noldor youths tormenting their Sindar peers, verbally assaulting them for making Lindon their home after the Fall of Doriath. He shrugged carelessly. He had learnt to accept the taunts a long time ago. His cousin would have to do the same.

"Saeldur!"

The dark haired immortal suppressed a groan as he turned, but he met his relatives with a smile nonetheless. "Uncle Oropher. Thranduil. It is good to see you again, little one. I heard you have had quite a day thus far."

"To say the least," the father muttered. He held out one hand to his nephew and delivered some coins to the younger Elf, four in total. "Take care of these. Allowing a child to run freely with money to spend does not strike me as wise, for some reason. Supervise his purchases, if you will. He has a tendency to fill his pockets with items of no use."

"Ada, I promised I would not today," Thranduil said incredulously. "I do intend to keep that promise."

Oropher exchanged a glance with Saeldur, before kneeling in front of his son. He smiled slightly as he straightened the child's already askew cloak. "Remember what you have been told. You must hold your cousin's hand at all times, and if he has to let go for any reason, you do _not _leave his side. Nor do you speak with any strangers, be they Elves or human. And touch _nothing _without permission. Is that understood?"

Thranduil was silent a moment as he considered all of the instructions, then he nodded slowly. "I think so. No wandering, no talking, no touching. I can remember that."

"Ensure you do," Oropher reiterated sternly. He rose to face his nephew, and gave a weary smile. "Ensure he does."

Saeldur just had time enough to nod his acquiescence as a small hand slipped into his and began dragging him up the paved road. A thought flashed into his mind that perhaps his annoyance at having been given such a task was not quite warranted. Though he was not nearly as enamoured by his young cousin as the rest of the family so blindingly were, to deny that the child was well behaved would be a lie. Maybe the afternoon would not be so awful. He might even find some new books in the market place.

"So tell me," he began, cheered by this new thought, "exactly what happened this morning? It is my guess that you had an altercation with a Noldo. Nothing else could anger your father so. Would I be right?"

"It was five of them, but I don't want to speak of it," Thranduil muttered. "Ada says I have to forget it."

Saeldur nodded in understanding, though that did not stop him from pressing the matter. "Easy enough to do, I suppose, but this one incident will not remain just one. Now that the other Elflings have picked you out, they will not leave you alone. I fear you are in for some trouble, cousin."

"Well, I don't see why it should be so. I don't want any trouble from them, I just want…" The younger Elf shrugged miserably, uncertainty flitting across his face. "I want… Anyway, I have said already that I would rather speak of something else. Let's change the subject. Please?"

"If you are afraid," Saeldur concurred.

Thranduil stopped in his tracks, digging his heels into the road to pull his cousin to a halt also. Green eyes flashed at him; he countered them with his own angry blue gaze. "That is unfair. I am not afraid. Besides, even if I was… Who are you to comment on it? You dislike the Noldor as much as your father and mine. I think some of that dislike is fear, so you are not one to talk. I want to change the subject. Now."

"As you wish. Get out of the road, though. If a cart comes along and sends you flying through the air, your parents will never forgive me. That aside, it would make the Noldor children laugh," Saeldur smirked. As his charge pulled free and began a furious storm away, his eyes widened slightly and he jumped forwards to grab the Elfling's hand. "Valar, have you forgotten already your father's words? Stay with me."

"That was your fault," Thranduil snapped. "What does it matter, anyway? The market is in sight. I will not become lost."

The dark haired Elf opened his mouth to point out that such a poor defence was beside the point and had no hope of winning the argument; then he paused, and gave an almost careless shrug of his shoulders. It really did not matter to him if they became separated for a short while. It would give him a chance to browse his favourite stalls without worrying that he was failing in his task. Irresponsible, perhaps. But if there were no adults present to witness…

"Listen to me," he said smoothly. "I think we can both agree once, at least. You are sensible enough to walk through the market without becoming lost or stolen. I propose that you search for what you want, and we meet at the fountain when the bell tolls to tell us the hour. If you need your coins before then, you will find me at the book stall. What think you?"

"I think my father would be furious," Thranduil replied promptly.

"And I do not think he is here. What harm are we causing if he is at your home?" Saeldur countered. "I know you dislike having to hold my hand as much as I dislike having to hold yours. Can you not be persuaded?"

"I don't…" The Elfling blinked in surprise as he found himself suddenly released. He had thought his cousin was jesting. "Are you quite sure that we will not get into trouble?" A silent affirmative came in the shape of a nod. He considered a moment, before returning the gesture. "I will see you at the fountain, then."

Before Saeldur's mind – or his, for that matter – could change, Thranduil turned and ran a short distance up the road. A dimly lit alleyway between two rows of houses was a well known shortcut to the market place, though its size was enough only for Elflings and dogs, and he slipped through without a backward glance. His heart sped in anticipation. Browsing the many different stalls with a guardian was one thing. Doing so alone would be quite another. Indeed, he even felt slightly more grown up.

The market was held every day in a large plaza set in the centre of the city, though each day brought with it new sights and smells, different wares sold on different stalls by different people. Most of the vendors were humans passing a week in Lindon on their way elsewhere to trade or sell. They were welcomed there, and they brought with them hand crafted ornaments and musical instruments, books from afar, furs and leathers, strange spices and foods previously unknown to the Elves, and other cultural items. Immortals sold too, although their wares were often of a higher quality. Fine pendants and rings set with bright jewels, elaborate robes and other fancy garments, paintings of days long past or days to come or indeed, anything requested of them. Weaponry displays there were also, but Thranduil hurried past them. He did not trust himself enough to keep his fingers away from the deceptively beautiful blades.

As he wandered through and around the varied stalls, smells and sounds assaulted his senses. Roasting nuts and meats, freshly baked bread and sweet pastries, fruity jams and… He pressed his lips together and turned away from the food vendors, telling himself sharply that he had eaten already and did not need another bite until the evening. Besides which, gazing at so many delicacies would truly be torturous. A wine display sat close by, and at that he wrinkled his nose. His father and uncle could have spent hours there, but he was not so fond of the spicy aromas.

An ornament stall sat just beyond the fountain at which he would later meet Saeldur, and as he slipped through the crowds, using his slight build to dodge taller Elves and the occasional human, his gaze fell upon an entertainer at the side of the plaza. It was a mortal man, tossing four brightly coloured balls from one undulating hand to the other. They flew so swiftly, as though on wings, that even Thranduil's eyes struggled to follow their flight. He watched the show for barely more than a few seconds before continuing his journey. Better to move on than have a spinning head.

When he reached his destination, a smile flickered across his face. Felith had brought him to the market the previous week, and he had watched her spend a good ten minutes examining the ornament stall before smiling ruefully and looking away. The coins from his father were for him, but pleasing someone he loved so much would be a better gift than anything he could buy. The stall's owner was to be found a short way away, negotiating a sale with another customer, and did not look up to see the child visually appraising his crystalline goods. Most were animals carved from a shimmering rock, but others took on the forms of trees, still waterfalls, stars and flowers. Upon this last, the boy's eyes stopped. His mother loved to be among flowers. The house contained as many as any garden could.

Thranduil glanced at the vendor, but the man was still haggling over prices at the end of the table. He had found a rose sure to put a smile on Felith's face; indeed, a small one pulled his own lips upwards as the sun flashed against the flower, tinting its petals a number of indescribable colours. It really was quite pretty, he admitted silently, with its prismatic shades of pink and blue and so many others. How many coins could buy that? Individual pieces of parchment sat underneath each item with a price inked onto the yellowed material, useful if one was tall enough to look down on them, useless if one was not. The Elfling fell into that latter category. He bit on his lower lip, considering. Oropher had told him not to touch. But then, if he wanted to buy the rose anyway, surely it would not hurt to…

"Hey! You!"

As he lifted the crystalline item from the table, Thranduil nearly dropped it again at the shouts close by. A sharp breath of surprise left his lips, and without thinking, he turned to run from that accusing voice. One step had only just been taken before a hand clamped heavily onto his shoulder and spun him around with almost painful force. It was the vendor's face, large and red and seemingly ten feet above him, that he found himself staring into.

"What do we have here?" the man hissed. "A thief!"

"No! I did not realise what I was doing," Thranduil gasped. He thrust the ornament towards his captor, a token of his innocence. "Your voice startled me, and I just… I am sorry to cause trouble. Please, take it back. It belongs to you."

The vendor did, though he snatched it with unnecessary violence and replaced it on the table with no less care. It was a wonder it did not shatter. "Thought you would escape with a pretty piece of treasure to show off to your little friends, did you?" he sneered. "Have fancy ideas of presenting it to your mama and telling her that you bought it with your own coins? Eh?" With both large hands wrapped around the Elf's shoulders, he shook him mercilessly. "Answer me!"

A crowd had gathered around the stall, watching in nervous silence as the scene played out. Thranduil was only dimly aware of their eyes on him as he breathed, "Please! I had no intentions of stealing it. I would never do that, I am not… Please, this is just-

"A misunderstanding?" the human mocked. "In some places, to punish a thief they will cut off his hands. What do you think of that, little criminal?"

Protests started to arise from the witnesses, and as more Elves joined their ranks, some started to move forwards in attempts to separate the furious man from the terrified Elf-child. None had seen the event which had triggered such violence, but whether the boy was guilty of any crime or not, intimidating and threatening him so was not condoned by any present – and the majority of those were Noldor.

"Luck is with you this day," the vendor continued in a snarl. "Rather than take your hands off, I will merely beat you so hard you will regret that your mother and father ever laid eyes on each other."

"You will not!"

Thranduil's wet eyes – he had not even realised he was crying – widened as a familiar voice rose above everything else. He had never been so happy to hear his cousin. Saeldur strode through the crowd, and it moved apart to allow him passage as though blasted by the cold ice of his green eyes. One hand rested on a knife hilt which had been hidden beneath his cloak, and he looked ready to draw it at any moment, like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse.

"Who are you?" the man snorted contemptuously. "This one's bodyguard?"

"If you want," Saeldur replied, his voice cool. "My identity does not matter. You will let him go, or there will be further trouble. Some of your pretty crystals may well end up shattered on the floor. Is that what you want? You are taking the right steps to achieving it."

"I… You cannot… How dare you? This-" The human shook his prisoner again like a rag doll. "This brat is a thief! He tried to steal my goods whilst my back was turned, and you are content to let him walk away without even a slapped wrist for his crime?"

Saeldur glanced down at his cousin, a fleeting movement of his eyes. The younger Elf's blond head shook pleadingly, but his own face remained impassive. "You have entered another city, and you are among people different to your own. Perhaps mortals do beat children so callously, but that is not the way of the Elves. Respect, human. You owe it to the folk in whose land you walk," he admonished sharply. "Your customs should have been left at the gates, ready for you to collect upon leaving."

"But I… He-

"He will be returned to his home, and I will see that he is disciplined for the trouble he has caused," Saeldur resumed smoothly. "However, the punishment is not yours to mete out. Leave that task to his father."

The large man stared angrily, and it seemed for a moment that he would not relinquish his hold on the Elfling. Green eyes narrowed meaningfully at him, renewed threats of confrontation in their icy depths. With a savage snarl, he pushed Thranduil away from him and stalked back to stand behind his stall. He trembled with rage. Even his beard seemed to bristle with it. With the excitement finished for one day, the crowd started to go about their business too, drifting away as though nothing had happened. Saeldur grabbed his cousin's wrist and set off at a run, dragging the smaller Elf along behind him. Perhaps there was no further threat of trouble, but one could never be too sure with humans. They were rather like the Noldor – some you could trust, others not so far as you could throw them.

When they had escaped the main market place and were safe in a street some way away from it, the Elves came to a halt. The older one leaned back against the wall of a house, watching the younger with no less ire in his eyes than when he had looked upon the human. Thranduil kicked uncomfortably at the cobbled road. This silence was worse than the noise conceived by the market's loud hustle and bustle. They were alone, too.

"Saeldur, thank you," he began quietly. "If you had not come when you did, I don't know what would have-

The dark haired immortal leaned forwards in a flash, and dealt his cousin a stinging slap to the upper arm. "Shut up!" he hissed. "Just be quiet! Do you have any idea how much trouble I would be in if your father or mine discovered I allowed you to walk around the market alone? I thought I could trust you to be left unattended."

"You can. I didn't do anything wrong," Thranduil protested, blinking away hot tears. "I touched the flower, yes, but I wasn't going to steal it. The man just assumed that-

"He saw it in your hands! Did you expect him to give you a pat on the head and go about his business as though nothing was amiss?" Saeldur snapped. "You are an idiot. I almost regret coming to rescue you so soon."

"I am not guilty of anything! Why won't you listen to what I am trying to say?" the Elfling cried. "That human didn't either, and that is why he tried to punish me. Listen!"

Infuriated by his cousin's utter lack of respect, the older immortal raised his hand once more to deal out another slap. Nearby voices halted him, though. They were coming closer, mocking, laughing. He heard his own name mentioned, Thranduil's too. That was surely not a good omen, especially so in light of recent events. "Come with me," he muttered distractedly. "We are going home."

As they turned to leave the street, a group of Elven youths appeared around the corner from the marketplace, just feet away from them. Three were close to Saeldur in age, one older and two younger, and with them was a child all too familiar to Thranduil. Morifwen, his tormentor from the archery field. Though his heart sank, he narrowed his eyes in imitation of his relative, blue determination evident in their deep pools. He would not be intimidated. Not this time.

The brothers came to a halt before the cousins, regarding them in cool silence. The eldest was auburn haired Lithônir, and a smirk was upon his fair face as he spoke. "A close escape you both had back there. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time I was so entertained."

"Then you have poor taste," Saeldur replied quietly. "If you have come here looking for trouble, you will not find any. We were just leaving, if you have no objections."

"Oh, but I do." The Noldo's voice was smooth, like dark velvet. "My little brother tells me that there has been some conflict between he and your cousin. We have come to amend that, and we will not leave until our task is done."

"Your task? What might that be? Honestly, I do not see why you should want to be getting yourself involved with their petty quarrels. They are Elflings," Saeldur countered, his careless tone a sharp contrast to the rigidity of his body, the flash of his eyes. "They are bound to fight like cat and dog. Leave them to it, I say."

Lithônir glanced at his siblings and shook his head slowly, almost regretfully. "There it is. The difference between us. When a Sinda starts lording it over a Noldo, you are content to let it slide. We, however, prefer to teach that Sinda a lesson to ensure he knows his place."

At his cousin's side, Thranduil's eyes were wide. Desperation shone in them, and Saeldur spared him a sympathetic look. He may not have liked the child very much, but he was family, and that made them allies. "Lithônir, it seems to me that you are confused. From what I hear, Morifwen was the one doing the lording. He is a bully, just like the rest of your family – you, your other brothers, your father and even your mother. I do not doubt that makes you happy, hearing what must pass for a compliment in your household. But, I can see beyond it. You are cowards, too."

"What did you say?" Lithônir hissed.

"You heard very well. You are a coward, _kinslayer_." Saeldur held the other's gaze with his own glacial one, and touched a hand to Thranduil's shoulder. "Come. We are leaving."

The following moments passed in a distorted blur. As they turned away from the Noldor youths, a knife flew at them from behind, whistling as it flew through the still air. It was not an aim meant to hurt, but the blade cut through Saeldur's cloak as though the material was nothing more than melting butter. It hit the cobbled floor with a discordant clanging, and the two Sindar just stared at it in silence, stunned into immobility. Neither knew how much time eclipsed by before the elder spun around once more.

"If a fight is what you want," he whispered, "a fight is what you shall have."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**I'm back from Austria now, so updates will be a lot more frequent; once a week, as I usually do. I'm aware this is quite different from most of my other stories – all of them, actually! – but stick with it. It's some fairly easy reading before later stories in the series, in which there will be much angst and turmoil for the characters. I know we all secretly love that. **

**I'd love to hear from reviewers both old and new. I'm really keen to hear what people have to say about this story especially, because as mentioned before, it is ever so different to what I'm used to writing: a different time, a different place, some different characters. So if anyone feels like dropping me a line, feel free to do so!**

**The third chapter will be up next weekend. **

**Luv Misto**

**x-x**


	3. Conflict

**3**

The challenge had not even left Saeldur's lips before he flung himself forwards to tackle Lithônir to the ground. Caught off guard, the Noldo fell easily, and Thranduil could only watch in helpless horror as his cousin pinned the fallen opponent with an arm against his throat. The other Elfling, Morifwen, looked startled too at this turn of events, but his brothers held him back, silencing him with hard stares and harder hands upon his shoulders. Clearly they thought their eldest sibling's defeat was not final. As he screamed at the fighting Elves to stop the violence, the very same thought flew through Thranduil's mind. Lithônir was taller and stronger, a warrior in training. Saeldur was an apprentice scholar; he had no interest in weaponry and warfare. It showed as his whole body trembled with the effort of keeping his captive down, and perspiration beaded on his brow. He was losing the upper hand, and he was losing it fast.

"Let him go!" the Sinda child cried. "Walk away. You cannot win this!"

The second of Morifwen's brothers, Irithen, gave a feral snarl as the younger Elf's voice resounded in the street. "Shut up! The whole city will be upon us if you continue that way. Be quiet, I said!"

_Valar, Saeldur is going to lose. _Thranduil fell silent as he surveyed the tableau before him, his eyes flicking wildly from one combatant to the other as they struggled on the paved ground. He was doing no good standing to the side as a helpless spectator, but he would do less good and be just as powerless trying to separate the fighting immortals. He had to help, though. He could not, would not, let his cousin be beaten.

Lithônir writhed under the grip restraining him, and the Elfling watched it a moment longer before spinning on his heel and running in the opposite direction. He got only a couple of paces and the back of his tunic was grabbed, an exact replica of his capture by the human from the market place. This hand did not hold him still, though. It threw him to the ground, as carelessly as one might toss a piece of unwanted rubbish.

"Irithen!" That was Morifwen's voice. He sounded on the brink of tears. "I didn't want this to happen. You said you would scare them, not hurt-

"We are fighting your battles for you," the third brother, Teladhen, spat harshly. "Be grateful, or you will find yourself alone from now on. Stop that weakness."

Most of the conversation flew straight through Thranduil's consciousness as he crawled backwards to huddle against the wall of a house. Why was nobody coming out to help? Surely they could not all be away at the market. Those thoughts and so many more rushed through his mind as Lithônir's strength finally, but inevitably, overcame Saeldur's, and their positions were reversed. The Noldo caught the Sinda with two open handed slaps, and childish screams from both sides coalesced. Someone had to hear. Someone. Anyone.

Into the chaos entered the sudden rhythmic pounding of horse's hooves upon stone, and a part of Thranduil's mind told him that it could not be real, that in his fear he was suddenly imagining things. But, no. A group of twenty riders rushed into the street, most dressed in the blue livery of the High King's guard. At their head were two Elves, dark of hair and gray of eye, and each carrying himself with a noble bearing that the soldiers did not have. One, wearing cobalt riding garb beneath a long dust cloak, was unfamiliar to the child; he knew the second in an instant. The emblem of Lindon's royal house upon the very best suede tunic gave it away. Gil-galad.

Lithônir had pulled his hands away from Saeldur even before the guards hauled him to a standing position, and his face was an unhealthy ashen hue as they pushed him forwards. He chanced a glance at his brothers, wide eyed and horrified, before sinking to one knee on the floor and letting loose hair cover the terror painted over his features. At his side, his opponent did the same. Irithen and Teladhen made futile attempts to back away, but twenty stares, harder and colder than their own, held them still. Morifwen was quietly crying.

"Today was to be a special day," the High King of Lindon began. He did not need to raise his rich tenor voice to be heard. A hush was upon the gathered Elves, almost tangible. "Special, because I had not one meeting to attend, not one letter to write or name to sign. That is rare, for a ruler, and it is why I was on my way out of the city for an afternoon ride. Which one of you two will explain why this very special day has been disturbed?"

"I will speak, Your Highness," Lithônir breathed. His head was bowed low, and his words were barely audible as they hit the ground. "We…had an argument. A misunderstanding."

"I see, and that gives you cause to roll around on the floor as drunken humans do? As dogs? Get up, both of you. I will not speak to the floor," Gil-galad berated sharply. The perpetrators were swift to obey, and he levelled them with a cold stare. "Indeed, I have seen animals behave with more decorum. What have you to say for yourselves?"

Saeldur glanced sideways at Lithônir before turning his eyes back upon the monarch. There was just a century between their births, and that always struck him as odd. The ruler seemed so much older. He took a deep breath, and began hesitantly: "He and I are divided by blood, my Lord. I am at fault because I insulted the Noldor; he is at fault for his retaliation. He… He drew a knife, High King."

"A knife." Gil-galad's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and then all traces of shock were gone as he regained the impenetrable serenity belonging to a royal Elf. He looked coldly at Lithônir. "Is this true?"

"Your Highness… It is."

The young King was silent a moment, though his flashing gaze spoke volumes, before giving a wave of his hand and encompassing all six Elven youths. "Then this is worse than I deemed. Stand before me now. All of you. Move!"

By the side of the house he had crawled to for protection, Thranduil started at the loud command. He made to rise, but a stinging sensation in his palms drew a sharp gasp from his lips and stilled him immediately. He looked down, and blinked in surprise. His hands were bloody and torn. He had used them to break his fall after being thrown by Irithen, but the pain had only just arrived in light of the captivating scenes of before. He bit on his lower lip, staring at the red liquid adorning his pale skin, seemingly transfixed by it.

The dark haired Elf at Gil-galad's side spoke quietly, inaudibly, as the ruler opened his mouth to reiterate the order. He seemed to be a close friend of the King, for he even touched his cloaked shoulder before moving away from the main body of Elves and stopping by Thranduil. He leaned down, catching the child's gaze with his own intense gray one. Flecks of blue in the shadowy pools glimmered in sympathy for the young one's predicament, and though he was most certainly a Noldo, his face was kind.

"Are you well?" he murmured.

Blinking again, the boy looked up quickly. He had not expected that compassion. "My hands, I just didn't realise that… I am well, my Lord. Thank you. Thank you for your concern."

"They will be tended to," the strange Elf continued softly. "Are you injured elsewhere? Take your time, little one. Ereinion will wait."

"Ereinion?" Thranduil repeated, confusion colouring his voice. He blinked again, this time pulling himself from reverie before he became distracted, and shook his head once. "No, my Lord. I am quite well, truly. The pain is not as bad as I thought."

As though to prove his point, he pushed himself up with both hands. It did sting, despite his words, and he could not help but wince. The older Elf caught his shoulder, steadied him and gently guided him to stand beside Saeldur, before returning to Gil-galad's side himself. Thranduil was truly bemused. What had he done to receive such kindness from a Noldo? He alternated his eyes from looking at the floor and the High King, but every so often they would alight briefly on the other immortal, and the questions would resound in his mind once more.

"That mere children have involved blades in their quarrels disgusts me. Civil war ended years ago; we do not need to see any more of it. Especially among the youth," Gil-galad was lecturing sternly. He looked at Lithônir, singling him out once more with the depths of his eyes. "No matter how you were insulted, drawing a knife on another is unacceptable. Who is your father?"

"Cevenias," the younger Elf muttered.

The High King's eyes widened once more; again, for less than a second. "Cevenias? I know him well. He is one of my chief councillors. In that case, these must be your brothers. Irithen, Teladhen and…Morifwen? Am I correct?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And, you are Lithônir?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I see. Very well, you three older ones will explain this situation to your father when I send you home in a moment. You are all guilty, and you will be punished according to your crimes – you especially, Lithônir," Gil-galad ruled impassively. "Do not forget that I see Cevenias often. I will know if you have not done as I say."

"We will not disobey you," Teladhen said faintly. He looked nauseous at the prospect of facing his father's wrath. "We will do as you have said, my Lord."

"Let us hope so." The monarch paused, and turned his gaze upon the youngest brother. The tears had stopped, but pale cheeks were still dampened and stained by them. "And you. Why are you here? Were you just influenced by your older siblings, or did you play a part in this?"

Morifwen nodded slowly. He could not stop himself shaking in the presence of this mighty Elf. "Yes, sir," he breathed. "I played no part in the violence, nor did I know that they would go so far. I did not want them to… But I am guilty of something. It is a lesser crime than my brothers', but I deserve to be punished also. I see that now."

At the genuine regret in the other boy's voice, Thranduil felt a rush of warmth towards him despite the severity of their current predicament. If he had family like Lithônir and the others, he did not doubt that he too would behave as Morifwen had. They had helped to corrupt him. It was not really his fault, the blond child reflected as the Noldor siblings walked away up the street with a guard to ensure they went straight home. In front of him, Gil-galad too watched Cevenias' sons until they had disappeared out of sight around a corner, before turning his eyes back to the two remaining youths. "Give me your names," he said quietly. "You first, little one."

The Elfling felt his insides turn to ice at that; he entwined his fingers, his movements nervous. "Thranduil," he whispered. "Your Highness."

"Son of Oropher," Saeldur finished wearily for his cousin. "I am the son of Vehiron, my Lord."

Again, Gil-galad seemed interested to hear their identities. He regarded them carefully. "Yes, I know your fathers. Not as well as I do Cevenias, but they advise me also. Their knowledge of the Sindar's wants and needs is infallible. I respect them both very much."

"It would seem, my Lord, that you are the only Noldo with such feelings. I have met others, but few," Saeldur said quietly. "Not too many of your people have respect for those who came from Doriath."

"Some do not," Gil-galad concurred bluntly. "You speak of respect. It has to be earned. You, the Sindar, have earned it, but alas that it cannot be forced. Such is the trouble in Lindon."

Thranduil could hardly believe he was hearing this. More than anything, he had expected that he and his cousin would be sent home with the same instructions as Lithônir and the others. Instead the High King was speaking with them as though they were discussing nothing more than the turning of the weather. He scuffed his feet quietly against the paved street floor. He was too shy to hold conversation with adult Elves, especially one so…royal.

"Is there nothing that you can do, my Lord?" Saeldur pressed, as urgently as he dared. "Anything to help us against people like Cevenias and his family."

"As I said: respect cannot be forced. Even if it could, would you be any happier knowing that it was false?" Gil-galad nodded as the Sinda youth cast his eyes downwards, no answer ready. "Quite. Now, I have been far more lenient with you than I should be. Lithônir may have drawn a knife, but you did provoke him and you know that well."

"I do."

"You will return to Vehiron and tell him what has transpired today. Just that. If he chooses to punish you for your involvement, you will not dispute that. Am I clear?" As the younger Elf nodded miserably, Gil-galad looked at Thranduil. His expression softened only slightly for the child's benefit. "You. What judgement am I to pass on you?"

No reply came, just a helpless shrug of small shoulders. The Elf at the High King's side hid a smile. "Ereinion," he began gently. "Do you truly believe this little one is guilty of anything? I rather think it is an unfortunate case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Aye, you would," Gil-galad replied. "Your heart is soft, my friend."

"Better that than as hard as dragonscale. Come, he is no more than an innocent bystander. You know that, deep down." The strange Elf watched his King in silence a moment and another smile appeared on his face. This one he did not conceal. "Allow me to escort them home. I will join you later this afternoon."

Thranduil held his breath as the ruler of Lindon gave a curt nod and mounted his horse in one sleek movement. His remaining guards resumed their places behind him; dust rose as nineteen Elven steeds wheeled around and disappeared up the street, their hooves percussive on the road. The child shook his head in wonder. Rescued twice in less than one hour. Truly, he must have done something to please the Valar. It was a pity, though, that his cousin was not so happy with him. Indeed, as Gil-galad's friend motioned for them to follow him, Saeldur looked positively furious, disgusted that he should be so blamed for the altercation with Lithônir whilst the younger Elf was escaping like a bird freed from a cage.

When the dark haired Sinda would not grace him with even a dirty look, Thranduil raised his eyes and looked at the Elf leading a gray horse beside them. He bit hesitantly on his lip before venturing, "I owe you thanks, my Lord."

"For what am I being thanked?"

"You defended me to the High King himself. I can think of very few others who would dare to even try that," Thranduil said slowly. "You did not have to help me, my Lord. I am very grateful to you."

"I do not see the innocent condemned." The older Elf led his mount along in silence, and his brow furrowed slightly as though deep thoughts plagued him, memories from the past. The moment vanished in an instant, and he gave a brief smile. "Please, you need not address me with fancy titles. My name will suffice."

"If that is what you would prefer," the Sinda child replied. Uncertainty shaded his voice, though. His father said that few nobles protested against the use of their titles. "What would you have me call you, then?"

"Elrond."

Thranduil stopped in his tracks long enough to grab his cousin's sleeve, before the sharp movement stung his cut hands. Pulling them away again, he looked from Saeldur to Elrond and back again with wide eyes. Elrond Peredhil, the son of Eärendil and Elwing, brother to the first King of Númenor, a descendant of Beren and Lúthien themselves, herald to the High King of Lindon and… He had not expected that, to say the least – the _very _least.

"You are pale," Elrond noted calmly.

"I am? Oh. No, it is nothing. I just… I am well, my Lo- I mean… Elrond." Thranduil released a soft exhale of breath, struggling to steady his nerves. Standing before Gil-galad had been terrifying, but this he was awed by. He had never met an Elf with such history. "My father and uncle speak very highly of you. They say that you are an infallible friend of the Sindar. After your defence of me, I see that."

"I do try," the Peredhil concurred. "And yes, I know your father. Yours too, Saeldur. Both are good Elves. As Gil-galad said, so I agree with him. I have respect for them."

"They would be happy to hear that, but I fear I do not understand," Thranduil replied slowly. "May I ask a question of you, my Lor-? Forgive me. Elrond."

Elrond gave a benevolent smile at the apology, and raised a hand to wave it away. "Ask what you will. I will do my best to answer."

"Thank you. What I fail to see is how you can be so different to other Elves I have met or heard spoken of. They are hateful and they are cruel, but you are the very opposite," the Sinda reflected. "How can that be, when you live among them? How can you not share their beliefs?"

"He is not a full blooded Noldo," Saeldur said. He spoke as though it was the most blindingly obvious fact in Arda. "Nor is he even a full blooded Elf."

"Why should that matter?" Thranduil retorted.

The older immortal spread his hands lazily, and kicked a pebble along the road. It bounced on and off the paved stones for a few seconds before coming to rest in a small patch of grass, invisible to all but Elven eyes. Elrond let his gaze linger on its smooth back, listening in silence to the cousins' debate. No, that he was half human did not come anywhere close to entering the question. He had witnessed the division of Noldor from Sindar during the Feanorians' years of power, and he had suffered from it himself. He would never forget the day he and Elros had lost their mother…

"You have a very narrow mind, Saeldur," he said quietly. "Without pausing to consider, you have categorised all Noldor as the same – kinslayers corrupted by greed and jealousy, haters of your own people. Is that true of the healers who mend your wounds and bring Sindarin children into Arda? Is it true of the warriors who risk their lives to protect yours? And tell me; is it true of the scholars you learn from at the palace library? Yes, I have seen you there."

"My Lord, I have not said," Saeldur ground out, "not once, that all Noldor-

"The implication was there." Elrond rested one hand on his horse's long neck as they walked, and stroked it with deliberate care a moment before continuing: "Fëanor and his sons had followers, and many of those who did not perish, reformed. Indeed, not all of their followers condoned the means taken to reclaim the Silmarils, but they raised no disputes because they wanted the chance to journey from Valinor. They could not have known what that would mean for them."

"But, there were Elves of like mind to Fëanor?" Thranduil questioned.

Saeldur shot his cousin a look of contempt, and his feet found another pebble to kick as he snapped, "Need you ask? Or perhaps you have not had the displeasure of meeting Lithônir and his family. I must have imagined your presence back there."

"That is not necessary," Elrond admonished. He levelled the older Sinda with his sharp gaze for a long few seconds before turning it upon the younger. "Yes, there most certainly were Elves who had no qualms when it came to the Oath, and some of those remaining abide in Lindon today, with high standing."

"Cevenias?"

"His father was a follower of Fëanor. Cevenias did not, I believe, take part in the Kinslaying, but he was raised with the beliefs of his parents. So was conceived his dislike of the Sindar – who kept a Silmaril from the Noldor – and his sons' dislike too. Alas," Elrond sighed, "morals are difficult to change. Even were they not, the right to do so is not ours."

"Do you mean to say, then, that if our fathers worked in a different sector – as healers, for example – that our family would suffer less?" Thranduil wondered aloud. "Would that make a difference? You mentioned high standing…"

The Peredhil nodded almost before the question was voiced. "Yes. It is true that most of the enmity towards the Sindar comes from those who have the High King's ear. As advisors, both your father and uncle have places in such circles. Were they healers, as you say, undoubtedly their peers would give them and their family more respect, the respect that they deserve."

Thranduil considered this in silence for a moment; when he looked at his cousin, his eyes shone in anticipation. "Something can be done to help us, then. If we tell Ada and Uncle Vehiron this, they can stop counselling High King Gil-galad and do another trade, where they will be amongst Noldor who do not hate the Sindarin Elves."

"Don't be naïve," Saeldur muttered.

As Oropher's house came into view around the corner, Elrond slowed slightly to continue the discussion. This time he did not mention the surliness from the younger immortal; he nodded his dark head in agreement. "Yes, your thoughts are right. If your fathers were to step down from their positions, the Sindar folk of Lindon would lose two of their prime representatives."

"What does that matter?" Thranduil regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He did not mean them; as he said as much, he cast his eyes towards the ground, silently angry with himself. He had made his father and uncle's hard work sound as though it meant nothing. "I should not have said that. I am being selfish."

"I think that you can be forgiven," Elrond said gently. "We all have such moments at times, although not all of us are as swift to recognise them as you."

As his cousin smiled at the compliment, Saeldur stopped at the side of the road and gazed at his uncle's large home, less than a hundred yards away from them. It was best that he and Thranduil went on the rest of the way alone – Felith and Oropher would be sure to ask questions about all that had befallen their beloved son, and he would much prefer to tell his own version of the tale than hear the half-elf's inevitably accurate one. Omitting the occasional detail never did any harm.

"Lord Elrond, I must thank you for the kindness you have shown us today," he said casually, "but our destination is mere minutes away. You need not accompany us such a short distance. You have gone out of your way to help my cousin and I as it is already. I would hate to inconvenience you further."

Elrond listened to the honeyed words with an unreadable expression on his fair face; though he must have seen through them, he nodded agreement. "Rest assured that it would be no trouble, but if it will ease your mind, I am content to just watch you home. I take it you have no objections to that."

Saeldur shook his head and performed a bow that was only half way to respectful, before nudging Thranduil to follow suit. The younger Elf obeyed with some reluctance. Returning home to his parents' endless torrent of questions was something he looked forward to as much as he did taking an evening bath – and that was not at all. Fighting the urge to grimace, he smiled at the Elf who had come to his rescue in front of High King Gil-galad. _I still cannot believe it truly happened to me. _

"As my cousin did, I must thank you also," he said quietly. "We are very grateful."

The High King's herald waved away the words, and lowered one hand to brush it along Thranduil's shoulder. As it made contact, his eyes flickered in surprise. A multitude of images, too many to count or even see, flashed through his mind like lightning, all depicting the Sinda child at different stages in his immortal life – slaying his first enemy, marrying, helping his wife bring their child into the world, and other obscure events too. Blood, tears, a circlet of leaves lowered onto his head, death, darkness, Elves bowing to him, shadows. None of it made sense.

"Are you well?"

Again, Elrond blinked, almost surprised to see that the tall and beautiful Elf from inside his head only reached his waist. "Yes," he managed. "Very well. Go on home now. You have been kept long enough. And Thranduil? Take care of yourself."

The childish face creased in confusion for a moment before its owner nodded quickly and ran to catch up with Saeldur, who had already begun stalking towards Oropher's house. Gil-galad's herald watched them go, a frown marring his own fair face. Foresight had not been a gift given to him at birth, but over recent years it had started to appear. He did not yet understand it, or the various images he glimpsed when he looked upon those around him. But this time…somehow he knew that Thranduil and his family would soon be far away from the troubles flowing through Lindon.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

After Saeldur and Thranduil had disappeared to the market after luncheon, their respective parents had gathered in the lounge area of Oropher and Felith's home, though only one of them knew the reason why. He paced up and down the large room, something that was worrying in itself. He never paced. His wife and brother were seated at a mahogany table, waiting patiently, or so it seemed, for him to reveal the turmoil flickering in the green depths of his eyes. It was a long time in arriving.

Felith watched as her husband traversed the room, and she could not help but wonder vaguely whether he would wear a hole in her carpet first or give an explanation as to why he had sent Thranduil to the market place. That he had done so was no strange thing. Their son loved to explore the stalls and watch the colourful entertainment, but an adult always – _always _– accompanied him. That he was out there as good as alone did not sit well with her; it did not sit well at all.

As though reading her thoughts, Vehiron leaned across the table with a gentle smile. "I think that perhaps you worry without reason. Saeldur is with him. What could happen?"

What, indeed. Though Felith returned the smile, inside she was sceptical. Maternal instinct dictated that she trust few when it came to the wellbeing and safety of her only child – unfortunately, her nephew was not in that group of few trusted Elves. She was fond of the youth and cared deeply for him, but defence had never been his strong point. He preferred to shut himself away with a dusty book rather than hone his weaponry skills. It was a pity. He had the potential to be a fine warrior. Nevertheless, Thranduil liked him and she supposed that was just as important as anything else, even if the feelings were not reciprocated in full. She bit back a dry smile at her thoughts. Saeldur was one of those youngsters who fancied himself older than his years. Looking after his little cousin of an afternoon was far too menial a job.

"Oropher." Vehiron's voice pulled the Elven lady from her reverie, and she looked up to watch the exchange. "I fear the threads of your carpet will soon perish if you do not divulge to us the reason behind your worry. Is something amiss?"

The older Elf stopped his pacing, and turned to regard his brother. His green eyes met almost identical questioning ones; he held them for a moment before moving his gaze onto Felith. She looked as worried as he felt. He did not want to upset her – and the news surely would – but perhaps now that their son was involved she would accept what he had been saying for so long: Lindon was not the place for them. So it was that he drew a breath and began his explanation.

He watched his wife as he spoke, watched the multitude of expressions she wore. To commence with, she was stoic. Just that. Then it was as though a storm broke out. Anger, guilt, pain, sorrow – it was a fierce maelstrom of emotions. As he recounted their young child's grief on the archery field that morning, tears glistened in her eyes, making the blue depths seem rocks under a silver river on a bright day. Instinct told Oropher to at least attempt to soften the blow, but he forced that thought away. He _had _to make Felith see.

When the recollection was over and silence descended, it was deathly enough that a single strand of hair gliding to the floor would surely have been audible. A songbird trilled somewhere outside; the melody was horribly shrill and loud. Vehiron pushed his chair back from the table and rose sharply; the wooden legs scraping across the carpeted floor were deafening. He looked furious at the injustice his nephew had suffered at the hands of the Noldor children, and that spoke in greater volumes than anything else.

"Insolent little brats," he snarled. "Valar, if they belonged to me, sitting would be uncomfortable for a long time. A _very_ long time."

Oropher smiled, though there was no humour to it. "Such were my thoughts when I heard. Unfortunately, I do not think that their parents would be of like mind."

"Indeed. More likely to reward them," Vehiron agreed in disgust. "Did you know any of them?"

"I think one was Cevenias' youngest, although his name escapes me at present. There were twin girls with a younger boy I took to be their brother…" Oropher hesitated, considering, before nodding once. "Melthoron's children, I believe. One other was with them, but I did not recognise him."

"With fathers such as those to inspire the Elflings, it is no wonder they have turned out so," Vehiron muttered. "Was Thranduil very upset?"

"They told him he does not, will never belong in Lindon. Of course he was not elated." The older brother released a long exhale of breath, and glanced at his wife. She was silent. Worryingly so. "Meleth-nín? What think you? I expected you to say more."

Felith shook her head slowly. Her bright blue eyes were fixed unseeingly on the back of her hands, resting still upon the tabletop. "What would you have of me? I am still struggling to understand why mere children are being brought into your games."

"My…_my _games? I will not shift blame if I deserve it, but some of the Noldor hate us," Oropher protested incredulously. "You speak as though I am the one at fault."

"Your games, the games played in your circle. You know full well what I meant," Felith snapped. "It stuns me that your Noldorin colleagues will go so far as to use their own sons and daughters to hurt us. That they should stoop so low is sickening."

"Do not think that I disagree with you, but there is nothing we can do to change what they feel for us. They were followers of Fëanor, and we kept a jewel from them. They _hate_ us for that," Oropher said. "They always will, those select few. What good is it to dwell on something that we are powerless to change?"

The Elven woman looked up at the ceiling, and blinked quickly to vanquish the tears of frustration and anger gathered in her eyes. Most obeyed her command and disappeared, but one rebelled and slipped out. She pulled a hand roughly across her cheeks, destroying the silver droplet into nothing. She knew well what her husband was silently saying – something he had not suggested since their son was an infant: that they leave their home and never return. There was only one answer, though.

"No."

Oropher appeared startled at the vehemence in that one word. He looked at his brother for help, but the younger Elf just gave a gentle shrug. "Felith, I do not understand," he began uncertainly. "I did, when the Noldor's hatred left no mark on Thranduil. Now he has been touched, and believe me when I say that this is just the beginning. He is involved now."

"You should have considered that before seeking refuge here after the Fall of Doriath! We were blind and foolish to think we would be happy in Lindon," Felith hissed. "Why did we not make our home elsewhere, _before _having a child?"

"Had we foresight, we would have done." Oropher's voice was just as hard as his wife's as he threw himself into the seat next to her. "Listen to me. We know the truth now. We know that until we make the only change available to us, we will be unhappy. As will our son. He is no longer an infant."

"But he _is _a child," Felith whispered, a harsh sound which sounded strange coming from her lips. "No. The only way you will take me – or him – from Lindon is by tying us into sacks and not letting us out. Unless you wish to attempt that, we are staying."

"Perhaps I will try it," Oropher snarled. His wife pushed her chair back almost violently, and stalked from the room without a backward glance at him. He rolled his eyes upwards in uncontained exasperation. "Women! Why must they take it upon themselves to be so…so…?"

As his brother floundered, the younger sibling nodded sympathetically. "I know, I know. Curse the Valar for awakening them." He did not sound quite as serious as he looked.

"Thank you for your helpful words," Oropher said dryly.

"What else are brothers for?" Vehiron smiled, and let his hand rest on the other Elf's shoulder. "I know how you are feeling. As a caged bird does, yes? You want to fly away, but something – or someone – prevents you from spreading your wings. You may be the head of your family, but you are no king. Your desires must be Felith's also."

"I know. I cannot make decisions based purely on what I want or feel to be right, but it is difficult," Oropher sighed. "So difficult."

Vehiron nodded agreement, and glanced at the door to the kitchen his sister-in-law had left through. "Let me speak with her. I cannot do anything more than you already have, but I can at least try."

Oropher did not even respond; he stared mutinously at the table top as though it had done something to offend him. The younger brother watched him in silence a moment before shrugging his shoulders and leaving the room; his exit was quieter than Felith's had been. Indeed, he even knocked on the door to announce his presence lest the woman was still angry enough to bite the head off any male who tried to start a conversation after her husband's rudeness. There was no response to that, either, though he had not expected one. He pushed the door open into the kitchen, and felt a pang of sadness at the sight he was greeted with. It was as though all the fire had fled Felith's spirit. She was sat at the table, her fair face hidden in her hands, her shoulders trembling as she quietly wept. It was a pitiful sight.

"He wants only to protect his son."

The lady started at the voice, and jerked her head up sharply. "Vehiron." She did not try to dash away her tears. "Forgive me; I did not hear you… I know, and you cannot imagine how awful I feel for trying to stop him. Valar, I am not doing that. I wish to protect Thranduil as much as he does, but… It is difficult."

"Oropher said that," Vehiron revealed quietly. "'It is difficult'. Yes. It is, especially, when your children become involved."

"If keeping my son here is hurting him, I am failing as a mother. But, dragging him across Arda is too dangerous, and I would be failing in my duty then, if I was to do that. I just… I don't know what to do." Felith shook her head, and the movement eased another two tears from her eyes. "Have you ever had such worries with Saeldur?"

"He has had altercations with the Noldor on previous occasions, but they were always just trivial quarrels for which he himself was sometimes responsible," Vehiron recalled slowly. "Do not forget that times change. My son grew up before the children became entangled. It is different for Thranduil. He is young enough to become caught up in it."

"I wish I could say that Oropher is overreacting," Felith whispered, "but…"

"You know better. It is easy enough to claim that those Noldor children who hurt your son will not try to again, that today was just a one time event. But you know." Vehiron's voice was quietly urgent. "You know that the situation will worsen ere it improves."

"Then, what must I do?"

"What is right."

Felith gazed at the dark haired Elf, searching his eyes and face for a further explanation, but they revealed none. His words may well have been simple to anyone else; to her they were too cryptic by far to be of any aid. With a long exhale coloured by weary frustration, she rose and moved away from the table to stand at the side of the room. She gazed past the vase of flowers in the window, watching a blue breasted bird hop along her neatly tended garden. She noted absently that she would have to put out some bread crumbs for him.

Thranduil had helped her to bake the bread just the previous day; as she retrieved the loaf from the pantry, a small smile pulled her lips upwards, and the memory stole into her mind. They had had such fun together. He with flour dusted over his clothes and face and in his hair; she with a single speck on her nose which no-one thought to tell her of until much later that evening. And the elation her son wore after hearing Oropher claim it was the most wonderful bread he had ever tasted. It had all been so magical.

"We laughed so much," Felith whispered to herself. She began crumbling a piece of bread into small bits for the birds. "I would not see him stop laughing."

Vehiron came up behind her, silent as a shadow, and rested a hand on her shoulder. He was the closest she had to a brother, and she felt a rush of warmth for him as she reached up and placed her own slender hand over his. She was glad of his presence. Never would she stop loving Oropher with every fibre of her being, but it did her good to have another adult in her life in whom she could confide. He enjoyed the company too. Without his wife, the lady knew he was lonely sometimes.

"You do not have to see that," he advised quietly, "if you do what is right. No-one can tell you what that is, though. Your right may be different to Oropher's, but deep down they may be one and the same."

"Your help to me is – has always been – priceless, but today your words are puzzling," Felith replied. Exasperation tinted her voice. "How will I know these things? You contradict yourself."

"Forgive me, but you always did like riddles," Vehiron smiled.

The Elven lady rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and pulled her hand back to continue crumbling the bread. "Oh, be quiet. I must throw this to the birds. Would you care to help me or…?" As she glanced out of the window, she cut herself off and blinked in surprise. "The boys are home. They cannot have been gone for awfully long. And who…who is that with them? Valar, do you think something is amiss?"

No answer came from the dark haired Elf as he followed his sister-in-law's gaze to the road outside. His green eyes widened as much as her blue ones. "Oropher!" he called. "I think you should see something."

He and Felith were left alone in the kitchen for a few seconds longer before the door opened to admit his brother. The older sibling's expression suggested that he was irritated at being disturbed from his solitude, but it disappeared as soon as he glanced out of the window and realised why he had been summoned. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened, a mirror image of Vehiron's face.

"Is that…?" He blinked. "Am I tricked by some spell, or is that who I think it is?"

"Who? What strange Elf is with our son?" Felith demanded, whirling to face him. "Go out there, something may be wrong. Go!"

Oropher shook his head slowly, as though belief still evaded him. "No, that would be quite unnecessary. That 'strange' Elf poses no danger to the boys. He is Lord Elrond, meleth-nín. High King Gil-galad's herald."

The Elven woman's eyebrows rose, and she stared at her husband in silent wonder. Why in all of Arda was an Elf of such history and nobility…? She shook her golden head, and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, mentally preparing herself for whatever would come next. One surprise was quite enough, two were two too many. How many more would come her way ere night fell? It was all she could do to keep from reaching for a goblet of wine.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**I'll be quick because I need to be at work in thirty minutes and I'm still in my pyjamas! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far; I'll reply to your reviews when I get home from work this evening! To any lurkers reading this story, it would be great to hear your thoughts too! **

**Next chapter will be up next week.**

**Luv Misto**

**x-x**


	4. Set in Motion

**Chapter 4**

In a bright sky high above the Elven kingdom of Lindon, a cloud in the vague form of a horse meandered across the cerulean canvas. Or it was a dragon. Maybe just a mouse from a different angle. Saeldur shrugged nonchalantly, turned his gaze away from the unidentifiable creature. He could not care less what the snowy puffs resembled, but analysing them proved to be a welcome distraction from the irritating child's voice which belonged to his cousin. It grated on his nerves. It grated _heavily _on them indeed.

'_We met Lord Elrond. He defended you to Gil-galad and walked us home, he fell in love with your pretty blue eyes and now thinks you are a gift from Illúvatar,' _the dark haired Sinda thought bitterly. _'I am so very happy for you, cousin, but would you please just-_

"Shut up!"

Thranduil's breath caught in the middle of a sentence, and he turned those aforementioned blue eyes upon the elder Elf. "I was only saying that-

"Do not! Think you that I care? Well?" Saeldur snapped. "Hold your tongue until we reach your home, then you can bore your mother and father to tears rather than me."

The Elfling bowed his head, but only to pull a hidden face at his relative's harsh words. They were quite unjustified, so he felt. He had stood before both the High King Gil-galad and Lord Elrond themselves, and that was not something which happened every day, especially to mere children. As the thought drifted through his mind, a giddy delight overcame him. _Valar! I met royalty. I actually met royalty!_

"Why are you smiling?"

"It doesn't matter," Thranduil replied vaguely. They turned off the road and into his mother's neat garden, and for a fleeting moment he thought his eyes had caught movement through the kitchen window. He looked again. All was still. "What will happen when we get inside? What do we…? I mean, how do we explain?"

Saeldur stopped against the wall of the house and held out one arm to keep his cousin back. "Firstly, we will tend to your hands. The less blood there is, the less serious it appears."

"They are just grazes-

"Your parents will not see them as such, believe that," the older Sinda answered grimly. "We do this before making our presences known, so make no noise when we go in. Secondly, you will not say one word concerning the fight. Not one. I will do my best to lighten our situation – or mine, I should say – and you opening your mouth is a risk."

Thranduil looked insulted for a moment, but then he gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. "I do not agree, but if you think that is what we must do… Fine. Let's do it."

Saeldur drew a deep breath – the child wondered if he was more worried than he appeared – and pushed open the door. It was silent on its hinges, and their feet made little noise as they crept towards the stairs. Their mouse-like entrance was not quiet enough, though. Oropher's voice came from the direction of the kitchen, calling their names, summoning them. They froze where they stood, like statues made of ice, not daring to even breathe heavily. Perhaps if they just waited, he might think he had imagined-

"Is that you, Thranduil?"

"Damn it," Saeldur hissed. He leaned down so that his eyes were level with his cousin's, and whispered, "We go in. Please, remember what I said. Let me give the explanation."

With a quick nod of affirmation, Thranduil gave the kitchen door a wary glance before pushing it open. His heart sank like a rock in water. Not only was his father present, but so were his mother and uncle both. He almost took an instinctive step back, but a pressing hand on his back guided him forwards until he was standing in front of the adults. It reminded him of facing High King Gil-galad not so long ago; strangely enough, he felt just as worried under their scrutiny as he had beneath the monarch's.

"Did you have a good look around the…?" Felith cut her question short before it could finish, and rushed forwards to take her son's hands gently in her own. "Oh, what happened? Did you have a fall?"

"I… Yes."

Oropher had risen and was already dampening a cloth with water. With his back turned, he addressed his nephew. "Would you care to tell us something, Saeldur?"

"Well, I… That is to say…" The dark haired youth bit uneasily on the inside of his cheek. He wished that there were not so many sharp eyes fixed upon him. "We had left the market place and were ready to return home, but we were confronted by some Noldor boys, the brothers of that Morifwen from this morning. They spoke unkindly, but I did not want any trouble."

"Did you provoke them?" Vehiron asked suspiciously.

"No, Adar! At least… I did call them cowardly but they deserved that. There were three of them and one of me, not to mention Elflings present. I do not think that I was wrong. After that, I tried to get Thranduil away and… They…"

Kneeling on the floor at her son's side, Felith paused in tending to his hands. "What did they do, penneth? Tell us."

"The eldest drew a knife-

Saeldur was not even given the chance to finish his explanation. A soft cry of disbelief came from his aunt's direction, and his uncle and father were standing in an instant, rage painted all over their fair faces. Indeed, both looked ready to storm out of the door and hunt down the perpetrators of this deed. The Sinda youth took an involuntary step backwards as he awaited the inevitable eruption of fury. As with fire, the further one was from the flames, the safer one felt.

"What do you mean by that?" Oropher snapped. "He drew a knife, what then? Did he use it?"

"He threw it." Saeldur pulled his cloak up by the hem, displaying the gaping slash in its dark green material. "If his intended target was not this, his aim was poor. Nevertheless, I…I launched myself at him. I was not thinking, I just… I fought him. Right there in the street."

'_Don't be angry, don't be angry with him. Please don't.' _Thranduil chanced a glance at Vehiron, but the older Elf was silently impassive. _'Valar. What are you thinking?"_

"Lithônir was quick to take the upper hand. He is training as a warrior, whilst I am just a scholar's apprentice. I knew I had no chance, but that did not matter. I had to protect my cousin." Saeldur gazed imploringly at his father, silently begging him to understand. "That is not the worst of it, though. We were caught. By the High King himself."

"Gil-galad," Felith breathed. It was a too obvious statement; perhaps she realised that, for her cheeks were suddenly suffused pink.

"His guards separated us, and that was the end. I was sent home with instructions to tell you all that took place. I have done so," Saeldur continued in a whisper. "Now that you know, I can only apologise. I have shamed you, Adar. I will accept any punishment you choose to give me."

As the older Elf's emerald eyes filled with silver tears, Thranduil resisted the urge to laugh in spite of the severity of their situation. He had never known his cousin to be such a fine actor. Why, his talents could even be worthy of the High King's court. Whether they fooled Vehiron, though, the one who knew him so much better than anyone else, was a separate question altogether. The dark haired Sinda looked torn. He either wanted to reassure his son that all was well, or shake him very hard. Perhaps both.

"We do not blame you," Felith began gently. "You were just looking out for-

"What happened to his hands?" Vehiron snapped.

Thranduil inwardly winced. _'Maybe he will shake you, cousin.'_

"One of Lithônir's brothers pushed him when I was not looking," Saeldur admitted quietly.

"Whilst you were rolling around on the floor like a dog! Do you have any idea what trouble this will cause? Do you? The relations between Sindar and Noldor are strained at best, without you trying to act the hero," Vehiron hissed. "Yes, you have shamed me. You have shamed the whole family."

"That is unfair."

The small voice did not come from the accused youth. Oropher flashed his son a look of warning. "Be quiet," he said softly.

"Shaming you was never my intention. I thought that I was acting for the best, and I still hold to that." Saeldur's eyes, devoid now of tears, were angry. "What else would you have had me do?"

"Walk away! Why start a battle you have no hope of winning?" Vehiron flared. "Idiot boy. You consider yourself to be an adult, but you are nothing more than a foolish child. If the consequences of this are irreparable, I vow you _will _be held responsible."

The harsh words were too much for Thranduil. He stepped in front of his cousin, as though hoping to shield him from the verbal uppercuts with his own small body. "Stop it! Don't blame him when you have only heard his side of the story. It might surprise you to know that I am the guilty one, not him. Lithônir and his brothers were looking for me because of this morning's incident on the archery field, and I let them know where we were. The whole thing was my fault."

"You have no need to defend Saeldur," Vehiron sighed.

Oropher spoke up before the Elfling could answer. Though his voice was calm, the green pools of his eyes were as hard as iron. "No, no. I would hear this account also. Go on, ion-nín."

Thranduil drew a deep inhalation of breath, and in spite of his cousin's barely imperceptible shake of the head, began to explain all that had happened in the market place with the human. He omitted some parts of the tale – indeed, most of it was pure fabrication – but it would not do at all for the adults to discover that he had been without a guardian. They seemed angry enough, even his normally serene mother. Or perhaps not. She just looked disappointed. He winced, and tried hard to ignore that.

"So Saeldur turned away to ask the vendor how much he was asking for the ornament, and I did not think it would matter if I picked it up for a moment," he went on. "It was just for a second, but the human saw me. He thought I was stealing, and shook me so hard that it hurt. He said I should have my hands cut off, and he would have beaten me if not for Saeldur coming to my rescue."

"Oh, Thranduil," Felith sighed. "Why?"

"Because of the trouble I caused in the market place, Lithônir and his brothers knew where to find us. I am the one who should be blamed," the Elfling concluded miserably.

Silence fell, and Oropher pinned his son with a glare that would surely quench fire itself. Then it whipped onto his nephew, and softened only slightly. "Thanks are in order, it seems. I am grateful to you for helping him out of that predicament." The green gaze swung back to Thranduil, like ice once more. "As for you… What were you told before leaving for the market? What are you told every time? Answer me. Now!"

"Not to touch…"

"And yet you did the exact opposite, which ultimately led to some Noldo throwing a knife at your backs!" As Oropher's voice rose, Felith touched his arm. He just shrugged her off. "Rules are there for a reason, and this is why. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I am sorry," Thranduil attempted.

"Sorry? What good is that? Your idiocy is in the past and cannot be changed, so 'sorry' does not make one small bit of difference. Valar, I cannot remember ever being so angry with you." Oropher fell silent a moment, staring at the morose child through narrowed eyes before flinging a hand towards the door. "Get out of my sight. Go upstairs and do not dare to show your face until you are told. I will deal with you later."

Though this was certainly the worst predicament he had ever found himself in with his father, Thranduil knew much better than to try and argue his case. Doing so would be a fruitless attempt, and sure to land him in more trouble than rescue him from it. As he fled the room, it looked as though Felith would run after him to offer a mother's loving comfort. Instead she swung a gaze brightened by fury, equal to her husband's, upon him. He met it without effort.

"Do not look at me so."

"You deserve it. Sending him away was wrong," the lady snapped. "I am sure that he has learnt his lesson. Somehow having a knife thrown at one's back sounds a harsh teacher, not to mention witnessing one's cousin in a street brawl."

Oropher raised his hands, a signal which spoke where he did not. He would not argue. "At least we can continue our discussions without little ears listening in. To keep them away, perhaps you would not mind going up to watch over him, Saeldur."

As though sensing his son's imminent protests, Vehiron spoke up. His voice was like chipped ice. "Go. You are not yet out of trouble yourself, so you would do well to obey. You will not be told twice."

The rebellious part of Saeldur's mind conjured up a petulant reply to the command, but he swallowed it in favour of a quietly respectful nod. He left the kitchen silently seething, though. A little gratitude for saving his cousin was not too much to ask, yet his father was still looking at him as though he were a common criminal or a particularly offensive piece of dirt! He made an inaudible promise to never lift a finger to help anyone ever again if persecution was his only reward. Perhaps he had become involved in a fight, and perhaps the High King of Lindon _had _caught him… But, he reflected bitterly as he stalked into Thranduil's room – the Elfling did not look up from where he lay morosely on the bed – if Vehiron could not look past that and see the good he had done, something was very wrong with his father's judgement.

Saeldur paced his cousin's room four times before sitting on the floor against the wall, resting his dark head against it and staring moodily upwards. He was quiet for a moment, before, "Thranduil?" The child stiffened. "Are you crying?"

"No."

"You are."

"I am not!"

"I hear tears in your voice."

Thranduil jerked himself up from his place on the bed, and fixed his cousin with a furious stare. In spite of his denials, that gaze was damp. "What does it matter to you whether I am or not? If I feel like crying, I will. I will not stop just because you think it is childish."

"I never said that. I do think, though, that you are very lucky; much more so than you believe," Saeldur shrugged. "Your father is lenient, especially in comparison to mine. The most you will get today is a reprimand, maybe even a slapped wrist. Well, poor you."

"Be quiet," Thranduil muttered.

"It is the truth. I am hoping that perhaps my father will suggest you should be switched for the trouble you have caused today," the dark haired Sinda continued calmly. "I would support that myself-

"Stop! Why are you being this way? Yes, I have caused trouble for you, and I am so sorry for that. I really am. But you don't need to…" Thranduil shook his head, and the silver droplets in his eyes shimmered threateningly. "You have been horrible to me today, even before we reached the market too. I don't like you when you are like this. It is not you. I thought that defending you before our fathers would make you happier with me, but it was all for nothing. I wish I had kept quiet."

Saeldur passed a hand through his long locks, and was assaulted by a sudden pang of regret. He should not be so hard on his cousin. No, he did not like him much as a friend or companion, but as a relative he was not so awful. And he _had _put himself in the firing line to remove some of Vehiron's anger, and he had never asked for any of this to happen… The older youth released a long exhale of breath, and moved from his place on the floor to sit instead on the edge of the bed.

"You know who I am," he murmured. "I become sullen sometimes and I cannot help that, but I should have been more considerate at times today. I am sorry."

"Really?" Thranduil blinked in surprise. "You are?"

"Hmm. I am sorry too for striking you before Lithônir and his brothers arrived. I lost my temper," Saeldur continued quietly. "You did not deserve that, or my harsh words."

The Elfling shook his head quickly. "Some of them I did."

"Perhaps some of them, yes. But we should not be at odds with each other. Best to remain allies for when our parents turn against us," Saeldur said with a small smile. "I will try not to be so moody if you try and make me a promise in return. No more tears. Not today."

"No more tears," Thranduil agreed. Again, he was a victim of surprise as his cousin pulled him into a brief embrace. Once released, he regarded the older Elf in silence before hugging his knees to chest, staring over them at the floor. "I don't think I would have cried, were it not for my father. He is furious with me, and that is strange. I have never heard him raise his voice. I don't think it is a good omen. Perhaps he hates me now."

"Do not waste your breath on folly," Saeldur chided. "You are lucky I even graced you with an answer for that."

"Well, whether he hates me or not, he is still as angry as a hornet." Thranduil rested his left cheek on his knees. His gaze did not move from the floor. "What do you think they are saying down there?"

"I would know if I did not have to watch over you," the dark haired Elf replied bluntly. He winced immediately as his resolution shattered into pieces. "Sorry." The younger of the two just shrugged. "No, I cannot say what is happening, although presumably they are discussing all they have learnt since our return. That must make for interesting conversation. How are your hands?"

Thranduil blinked at the sudden change of subject – what did his hands have to do with anything? – and raised his head to glance at them. They prickled slightly, as grazes always do, but they would heal in a short time. Felith had dabbed some cream on them to help. 'Magic cream', she called it. The name made him smile, even if he was mature enough to know that the ointment contained no such properties.

"A mother's touch. It heals even the worst hurts." Saeldur looked wistful, although it lasted just a matter of seconds before he gave himself a mental shake. It was best not to dwell on what he did not have. "Do not worry too much that your father will be angry for long. He will not punish you. Aunt Felith will not allow him to lay a hand on you."

The blond child gave a weak smile as he moved away from his bed to lie in the window seat instead. It was just the right size for an Elfling to comfortably stretch out on its cushioned base, although a few years of growth would render it an impossible task. As he settled down on his stomach to gaze out at his mother's immaculate garden of flowers, he absently stuck the tip of his tongue against his loose tooth. He _hoped _Felith would be able to convince Oropher against punishing him.

He had a good and close relationship with his father, strengthened by the lack of other children in his life. The occasions on which he misbehaved were few and far between, and the only punishments he received came in the form of sharp reprimands. Oropher was different to Vehiron. The younger brother was strict, a harsh disciplinarian – or so Thranduil loyally thought – to his only child. Felith had once explained it was because Saeldur had inherited his mother's wilful streak, a personality trait which had ultimately led to her demise. Rather than flee a band of marauding Orcs outside of Lindon just a few months after her son's birth, she had tried to stand up to the vile creatures and defend her family. They had ruthlessly cut her fair Elven body to pieces.

"He lost the woman he loved because she was so headstrong," Felith had confided in a hushed voice. "Although I may not condone his methods, I cannot fault him. All he wants is to protect his son."

The memory forced entry into Thranduil's mind, unbidden, and he glanced surreptitiously at his cousin. Saeldur did not notice the secret scrutiny. He had resumed his pacing, and was concentrating unwaveringly on the ground moving beneath his feet. Or his feet moving above the ground, since the latter was inanimate and could not physically move. The golden haired boy hid a smile at the turn his thoughts were taking. Waiting did strange things to one's mind, especially when one was not entirely sure of what one was waiting for.

He let his eyes linger on his restless relative a few heartbeats more before turning them to the scene outside of his window. A human's wagon trundling up the road, too late for today's market; some young soldiers, laughing as they compared weapons. He did not think Vehiron would punish Saeldur today, not now that he had shifted the blame. A husband and wife, hand in hand; a lone cat, stalking some unseen prey. At least, he hoped his cousin would not be punished. Two Elflings his own age, running down the road as they ate sweet pastries from the market. _I wish I had bought-_

"Oh!"

Saeldur started as the exclamation broke into his thoughts. "What?" He came swiftly across the room and shifted his cousin slightly to gaze out through the glass panes. "What is it?"

"Look," Thranduil whispered. His breath, so close to the window, misted it. "Ada is leaving the house. Where is he going?"

The raven haired Elf was about to scorn the notion until sure enough, he saw his uncle stride through the garden and out onto the road. Confusion flickered across his own fair face too, but he said nothing. He just watched. Even when his cousin tugged at the sleeve of his tunic and questioned him as if he had the answers, he remained silently impassive. No, he did not know where Oropher was going. But a feeling, perhaps intuition, told him that something irreversible had been set into motion.

"Wherever Ada has gone to," Thranduil sighed, as he settled in the window seat once again, "I hope he does not forget that we are here."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Night fell over Lindon. The hour grew late and the luminous moon grew with it, a great beacon of light in a world full of twinkling eyes. Most of the city was quiet, although as children were tucked up in bed and adults reclined with a cool goblet of wine, the occasional strains of minstrels' song could be caught rising above the silence. Sometimes there was the bark of a restless dog, a moment's shattered peace as cats met each other in an alleyway, or perhaps muffled laughter from Elven youths as they parted ways with friends. The High King of that city leaned against a stone worked balustrade, listening closely to each tiny sound as he flicked his gaze over a scroll of parchment, his schedule for the next day.

A number of petitioners would bring their cases before him in the morning, each believing that their often trivial arguments were equal to life and death matters. He would listen to them all and judge fairly, but sometimes he found himself wanting to hide away from tax quarrels or family rows. Tomorrow's luncheon would be a quiet affair, apparently with a noble from Lothlorien, and after that a routine inspection of his army and a meeting with his counsellors. He sighed heavily. The latter was something he would forego entirely if he could.

"Trouble?"

Gil-galad looked up as his friend and herald appeared at his side, silent as any shadow. "With the schedule?" He tapped a slender finger at the bottom of the white scroll. "Only this final appointment, but is that a surprise? Would that I could arrange it for another time. Next year, perhaps."

"Ereinion, can it be that you are trying to shirk your duties?" Elrond queried, a hint of a smile making itself known. "Wine?"

"Gladly will I accept that." Gil-galad took a goblet from the other Elf, though he frowned into the red liquid rather than drink it. "No, I am not attempting any such thing. You know how wearying those councils can be, though. I spend more time resolving individual arguments than coming to any conclusions regarding matters of my kingdom. Ruling a people divided is no easy task."

"Of course not."

"I have done my best, but I cannot help but wonder if it is not nearly enough. The contempt for each other that touches both the Noldor and Sindar is spreading, and perhaps I should have realised sooner," Gil-galad sighed. "What can I do? I do not want my people to be cloven so, yet they are."

"You must not blame yourself," Elrond said quietly. "You are a King, but just one Elf too. The trouble in Lindon is not small. We see that day by day. Laws can be laid down and rules, but what good will they do? They will not change feelings, just actions, and is that enough? I said this to Vehiron's son earlier today."

The monarch cast a final dark eye over his quiet city, before walking back inside to an elaborately decorated lounge area. Overstuffed chairs sat in front of a roaring fire, silently begging to be put to use. He accepted the invitation gladly. "Saeldur. Not the sort I would expect to take part in a street brawl, although that Lithônir is a different matter. He has a cruel air about him."

"A pity it happened before Morifwen and Thranduil," Elrond murmured.

"Yes. Regrettable, but it has happened. Morifwen has learnt that following examples set by his father and brothers is not as honourable as he once thought it to be, and Thranduil…" Gil-galad paused, and took a sip of wine. It was lightly spiced, it smelt of berries. He held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. "He seems a nice child, though I am loath to use that word. I wish I had not addressed him quite as sharply as I did."

"He is nice, although that is a poor word indeed. He will grow up to be a fine Elf," Elrond murmured.

The High King arched an eyebrow, asking the question before he spoke it aloud. "More visions? What use are they if you do not understand them? You must seek aid. The Lady Galadriel, perhaps?"

"Aye. Perhaps."

"A visit to her means a visit to her daughter. What name does she go by? Ah, yes. Celebrían." Gil-galad smirked in a rather unkingly manner at the expression on his friend's face. "Blushing, Elrond? At the mere mention of a lady's name? You do surprise me."

Though more than a few stinging answers sprang to mind, the Peredhil just sniffed and drank from his goblet, stoically ignoring the gentle jibes floating his way. He had met Celeborn and Galadriel's daughter on a few occasions, and whilst it was true that he was rather fond of her, blushing was _far _too below him to… _Valar, my cheeks are hot. High King or not, laugh at me, Ereinion, and your health will be in danger. _He turned away and studied a tapestry on the opposite wall. It was a pity the subject resembled Lady Celebrían.

He was spared further embarrassment by a knock on the door, and jumped at the chance to busy himself with seeing to the late night visitor. Glaring at a still smiling Gil-galad, he crossed the room and pulled the portal open, perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary. A female servant stood before him in the blue and silver livery of palace staff, and although she succeeded in performing a commendable curtsy, she did not do quite so well at keeping the outrage from flickering across her face. "Lord Elrond," she began heatedly, "forgive me for disturbing yourself and the High King, but a most persistent Elf has made it through the guards and insists he speak with you – you and the High King, that is – and I told him that the hour is late and he should-

"Who is the persistent Elf?" Elrond interjected. He had an idea, despite the question. "Did you send him away again?"

"He is here, my Lord," the woman replied haughtily. "Would you have him sent away?"

As Oropher stepped into view, the Peredhil hid a dry smile. He had been correct. With a grateful nod at the serving lady, who looked scandalised that he would allow someone in to see the High King at such an hour, he pulled the door open wider to let the Sinda step inside the large chamber. He addressed him as Lord Oropher. Although the other Elf was really just a minor noble of a long fallen kingdom, it was best to start putting out the fire before it spread. That had been a favourite saying of his mother.

"An unexpected visit is always a pleasure," Gil-galad said smoothly, rising from his place by the fire. As Oropher bowed before him, he gestured to an opposite chair. "Please, sit. An unexpected visit at this hour, though, is a surprise."

The Sindarin Elf's eyes travelled to a timepiece on the wall, and they widened fractionally for a second before he schooled his features into an impassive mask. "I ask your forgiveness. The hour is later than I thought, High King. Had I realised, I would have been content to wait until tomorrow."

"To arrange an audience?"

"No. With all due respect, I could be kept waiting a month ere your time is free enough to grant me a private appointment," Oropher replied. He had taken the seat offered to him, but he sat tense, like a drawn bowstring ready to release. "What I have to say is brief, although that makes it a matter no less important. If I may…"

Elrond glanced at his liege – the other Elf was as calm as rocks – and nodded once. "You have the High King's ear." Gil-galad had done well in allowing the visitor to stay, considering the events of that afternoon. It was another step to putting out the fire started by Noldor youths. "Tell him what you will. Wine?"

"Thank you, but as I said, I will be brief." Oropher tapped his fingers against the soft arm of his chair, a barely audible noise. When he spoke next, he drew his gaze away from his hand and focused it on the waiting monarch instead. It shone like emerald ice. "My family and I are leaving Lindon."

Gil-galad did not miss a step. "Are you asking permission?"

"No, High King. I am telling you that the time has come to step onto a new path. The one I currently tread is reaching an end, and I mean to change my course of direction ere I hit a wall," Oropher replied, quietly determined. "My wife and I have discussed this, and after hearing how our young son is already being hurt, we reached our decision. Grazed palms may be a trifle, but a knife? I will not subject my child to such danger. I will not."

"Nor will I dispute that," Gil-galad returned. "He is your blood, and you must do as you see fit to protect him. However. Already I see flaws in your plan. Can it be that Thranduil is less safe in Lindon than in the wilds of Arda? Do you know what is out there? Can you protect him outside of my kingdom any better than you can inside its boundaries?"

"To put it simply, do you have any idea of where you will go?" Elrond translated quietly.

Oropher's eyes travelled around the surrounding walls, as though searching for something to aid him. It did not seem to exist. "Have you a map? I will show you precisely where I mean to go."

As his herald moved away to dig one out, Gil-galad lifted his goblet to his lips, although he did not drink from it. He just watched, gazing at the dark haired Sinda with thoughtful eyes. He liked Oropher, and Vehiron too. Indeed, he liked all of the Sindarin Elves he had met, and was silently disappointed that events had led to this decision. A voice was ever present in his mind, though, wondering if removing a part of the problem was a resolution. An easy one, but a resolution nonetheless.

"I have a map," Elrond stated after a moment. "If you would come to the desk?"

Oropher waited for Gil-galad to move before rising himself. The map had been spread out over a writing table, weighted down at the corners with hefty books, and he examined its yellowing canvas in anticipation. "Here." He struck his fingers against a region to the north. "This is where we will make our home."

"In Rhovanion?"

"Greenwood."

Elrond considered in silence. That journey would last weeks; the forested land was hundreds, over a thousand, leagues away. Though he wondered at the Sinda's desire to remove himself quite so far from Lindon, what he said instead was, "How do you intend to reach Greenwood? What course will you take?"

"I have spent a long time studying maps – not just this day – and there are two routes which would lead me there. The first," Oropher explained earnestly. "We pass over the Ered Luin and close by the Grey Havens, which leads us into Eriador. From there we travel through Isengard to the plains of Calenardhon. This brings us close to Lórien and Greenwood."

"And the second route?"

"The same as the first, up until one point: Eriador. Rather than take the road to Isengard, we continue east. Along this way we would come to a township of Men… Bree?" Oropher continued. He paused, and leaned down slightly to study the map once more. Worry marred his smooth forehead. "Then the Trollshaws, Rhudaur. The Hithaeglir. Lórien."

"You do not approve of this second option," Elrond noted.

The dark haired Sinda shook his head doubtfully. "No. The journey will be long, that is not something I have the power to change. But I can make it as safe as possible, and travelling across open country carries less danger than mountain ranges and these Trollshaws. No, I have my decision. It will be the first route we take."

Silence fell, and three pairs of eyes, gray, brown and green, stared at the dark colours depicting the forest of Greenwood. It was the largest woodland area in all of Arda, over one hundred and fifty miles wide, three hundred in length. It would take days to travel from one side to the other; weeks, maybe. Elrond looked towards Gil-galad. The other Elf was calm, but he knew his friend well enough to guess that doubt plagued him. It was understandable. The very same feelings swept through his own mind.

"Very good," the High King acknowledged eventually. "Tell me, who will be taking this journey? Your family?"

"No. My brother and nephew will follow at a later time. Vehiron has agreed to remain behind and look after our affairs – the house, any possessions we cannot take," Oropher replied. "I intend to leave in a matter of days. For my son."

"And, what of your people?"

For the first time since his revelation, the Sindarin Elf faltered. His emerald eyes darkened in confusion too heavy to hide. "My…my people? Your Highness, I don't… Of what do you speak? I have no…people."

"They followed you from Doriath and settled here in Lindon at the very time that you did. You represent them at my court, and it is you they look to when trouble arises," Gil-galad recounted, ticking each statement off on his fingers. "They see you as something, and now you desert them."

"The Sindar of Lindon are no-one's people but their own. I do not rule them," Oropher replied coolly, "and nor do I wish to. However, they will be travelling to Greenwood with me. That is the reason behind my late visit; I have spent hours explaining my plans and trying to convince them to leave."

"Did you succeed?" A touch of ice was in Elrond's voice also. Making a home elsewhere was one thing, but taking a whole people from the kingdom was quite another, and _not_ Oropher's place. "How many will accompany you?"

"Not all. Some are blind to what is happening, but I cannot fault them. They do not have contact with the same circles as I do," the Sinda replied. "In total, thirty will leave, although I expect at least a few to turn back. That will be their choice, and I will support them as I have since we left Doriath."

"Despite your inevitable protests, I would say that you are more a leader than you deem." Gil-galad smiled as his comment was met with stubborn silence, and clapped a hand to the other's shoulder. "Go, Oropher. If this is what your heart bids you do, who am I to halt it? The journey will be long and tiresome and possibly dangerous, especially so for the children, but rest assured I will do my best to aid you. Provisions, coin, horses. It will be given."

"My Lord, I have not asked-

"There is no need," Gil-galad cut in firmly. "It will be given. You have made a decision, now I am making one of my own."

Oropher smiled, and bowed his head in quiet respect. "Then, I am in your debt. It will be repaid."

"If you wish." The High King removed his hand from the Sinda's shoulder, standing tall and straight as though the moment had never happened. "Since your plans are so well thought out, you will know the date of your departure?"

"I do."

"And?"

"Two days." Oropher lifted his head in steely determination, and the green pools of his eyes glittered. "Two days hence."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A large cloud drifted across the moon, hiding its yellow light from view like a candle extinguished. All was dark for less than a minute before the cloud moved on its path, leaving Ithil free to shine once more. At the end of his cousin's bed, Saeldur sat up with a start, blinking his eyes back into focus as luminous rays hit him in the face. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, a confused gesture. Had he been asleep? What was the hour, even? Slipping from the mattress with barely a sound, he padded towards the window and studied the sky for a contemplative moment. A while before midnight, yet still late. Too many questions sped through the youth's mind, but he banished them forcefully. More than likely this was just the adults punishing he and Thranduil for all that had happened today. Or yesterday? _No. Not yet midnight. Today. _He curled his lip; weariness addled his thoughts.

Blinking to clear his mind as much as his still tired eyes, Saeldur looked down, and a slight smile pulled his lips upwards. Thranduil had not moved from his place in the window seat, and despite a soft cushion underneath him, was sure to wake sore if he stayed there for much longer. The older Elf hesitated a moment before leaning down to lift his cousin into his arms. He hoped, as he carried the child towards the bed, that he would _not_ wake. Whilst the house was quiet, he intended to sneak out of the room and find either Vehiron or his aunt and uncle. An explanation was owed; besides which, discovering that they had been left alone for so long would upset Thranduil.

'_And then there will be more tears and the task of drying them will fall to me,' _Saeldur thought wearily. He slid the blankets over his charge's small body, and turned towards the door. _'Valar, at what point did leaving us up here for hours on end seem a good idea? That Aunt Felith agreed to it is surprising, I did not think she-_

"Where are you going?"

_Damn. _The youth contemplated not answering in the hope that his cousin would go back to the path of dreams, but he could already hear the younger Elf sitting up in bed. He looked over his shoulder with a soft sigh. "Did I wake you? Sleep again."

"What is the time?"

"Time for Elflings to do as they are told," Saeldur replied firmly. "Come, stop stirring. Lie down."

"Why are you not answering my questions?"

"Why are you asking so many?"

Thranduil replied with a sharp exhalation of breath and pushed the blankets off himself, surprisingly vehement in his movements. "Something is wrong. I am in bed still wearing day clothes, and neither Ada nor Nana has come to say goodnight. I know they are angry, but they would come to see me. What is happening?"

"Listen to me, I… We have not…" Saeldur muttered an inaudible curse at his bad luck, but there was nothing for it now. He had no choice but to tell the truth. "Since being sent away this afternoon, no-one has yet come for us. Your father, as far as I know, has not returned from wherever he went. Your mother would not leave you alone for so long, so my guess is that she too is not in the house. As for _my _father… He could be anywhere."

"Do you mean to say that we have been left alone all this time?" Thranduil whispered.

"Stop your panicking before you even start it. I am sure that all of the doors are locked. We are quite safe," Saeldur assured as gently as he could. It was an effort to soften his voice, though. Tiredness and a lack of knowledge conspired against him to darken his mood. "Just…stay here. I am going to look for them."

"Outside?"

"If I must."

Thranduil felt his heart pound hard against his chest, but under the cool and calm gaze of his cousin he swallowed down the fear which threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing would happen. If Saeldur was brave enough to go wandering through an empty and dark house, maybe even out into the night, he was brave enough to sit in his room and wait. Just wait. Yes, he could do that. He could. He would. He told himself that over and over again, silently. Despite his inaudible promises, as his guardian slipped through the door, he lay back down in bed and pulled the blankets over his head.

Memories of the day left behind came floating back to play in his mind, and he found himself watching the human vendor shaking him like a rag doll, Morifwen and his brothers approaching he and Saeldur in the street, the knife leaving Lithônir's hand in a flash of silver, High King Gil-galad and Lord Elrond coming upon them as Saeldur fought… He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, though closing them on the world shut no doors on the memories. They just kept coming, and as he watched as though a spectator standing on the sidelines, he began to realise. This was his fault too. Oropher and Felith were so furious that they had left him. Alone.

In later years, Thranduil would look back on these moments of childish despair and laugh, but such a time was a long way off. Now, in the present, tears welled up in his closed eyes and slipped out from between dark lashes to stain his cheeks. He curled in on himself like an animal hibernating for the winter, letting grief wash over and through him as he wept. It was all his fault, the blame entirely his. His misdeeds in the market had made his mother and father leave him, and perhaps Vehiron too. Maybe Saeldur would not come back for him. Maybe he really was alone.

The sound of a key turning in a lock reached his ears, and the kitchen door opened and closed, quietly yet still loud enough to be heard from the upper floor. That would be his cousin, stepping out into the night. A soft moan left his lips, and he buried his face in the blankets wrapped tightly around him. Their heavy material did little, if anything, to warm him. Indeed, he shivered violently, although it was more from sorrow than the cold which could touch Elven children not yet immune to it. His silent vows to be brave had evanesced into history. He was afraid, and that in itself was terrifying. He had never known fear like this before, not even when Lithônir had attacked in the street.

"I am sorry," Thranduil whispered. "Please, come back. Don't make me stay here by myself. Saeldur, come back to the house. Please. I'm so sorry, Ada, Nana. You don't have to forgive me, just come back… Please."

Another sound, its location unidentified this time, penetrated the Elfling's fear and misery to silence him almost immediately. He froze underneath the blankets, clutching them close as though they could defend him from whatever was coming up the stairs. _How do I know that something is coming…? Oh Valar. Go away. Go away. Go away. _He found himself mouthing the words, needing to speak them yet too terrified to do so aloud. _Go away. Go away. _There was silence now, but he could sense…a presence. In the hallway outside. At his door. Coming for him. Opening the door. _Go away!_

"Ion-nín?"

The voice which broke the quiescence conceived more tears, but these were tears of relief. Thranduil threw the blankets back and sat up in a flash, and raw emotions played across his wet face. He had to fight hard in order to resist the urge to throw himself into his father's arms. He wanted to. He wanted to more than anything, but uncertainty as to whether Oropher would accept him clouded his mind. The older Elf had been so furious that his return to the house was not proof enough that his anger was yet abated, not for the child who so desperately wanted it.

"Penneth, are you…?" The dark haired Sinda was at the bed in an instant, leaning down to take his son's face in both hands. Concern flitted across his own. "Valar, you are crying. What is the meaning of this? What has happened?"

"You left," Thranduil whispered. "You left me."

Realisation dawned, and Oropher released a long breath as he sank onto the mattress and pulled his child onto his lap. Small arms crept around his chest, almost timidly, and pangs of guilt hit him from every direction. "I know, I know. This afternoon I did not think that I would be away for so long, but time rushed past me, your mother and uncle too. They cannot have realised how late the night has become."

"I thought… I fell asleep, and when I awoke, I thought that you had gone because you hated me, because I have caused so much trouble." Thranduil's voice wavered, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to control it. "I feared you would never come back, and I… I was frightened, Ada."

Though he made to chide the child's foolishness, Oropher snapped his mouth shut almost immediately. Children had vivid imaginations, and he could not find it in himself to rebuke the thoughts conjured by his own son's. Instead he kissed the top of Thranduil's golden head, and held him tighter. "Hush. I do not doubt for one moment that you were afraid, but it is over now. You are safe. You always were. We should not have allowed our planning to overshadow anything, you especially. I am here now, and your mother will be back soon. I met Saeldur downstairs. He has gone to bring her home."

Pulling back slightly from the embrace, Thranduil dragged the back of his hand across his still damp cheeks. He seemed reluctant to let go of his father. "Planning. What plans? I do not understand of what you speak."

"For a long while now, I have been unhappy in Lindon. I have wanted to leave for such a long time, but your mother always protested rather vehemently. Until today," Oropher explained quietly. "Hearing of those Noldor Elflings taunting you on the archery field upset her, ion-nín, and if that was not enough, you returned from the market after being threatened by a human, having a knife thrown at you and watching your cousin fight Cevenias' son."

"I am sorry," Thranduil began. "Truly, I am-

"No, you misunderstand me. I am not accusing you of anything. Not this time. Hearing all of this made your mother realise that being here, living with the Noldor and their contempt for us is a danger to you, and not something we can risk," Oropher broke in gently. "We want the best for you. We love you more than life itself, and if anything happened we would never forgive ourselves. How could we?"

The Elfling bit on his lower lip, and played absently with the clasp holding his father's cloak in place. "I still don't understand. Why are you saying this?"

"Because you are precious."

Thranduil looked up at the new voice, and a smile touched his lips at the sight of a slender figure silhouetted in the doorway. "Nana. You came back."

"Yes, I am here." Felith glided towards the bed, and sat at Oropher's side. Her hand played lovingly with a lock of blond hair hanging over her son's eyes. "You are our priority, understand that. We are doing what is best; what is right. We are leaving Lindon. For good."

"Leaving… To where? Why…?" Thranduil blinked, quietly considering the revelation. "Do you _want _to leave?"

"In an ideal world there would be no reason for us to go anywhere, but this world is far from ideal," Oropher replied softly. "Yes, we do wish to leave. It will be an adventure, just as in the storybooks. You like those. And at the end, there will be a new home waiting for us."

"Where?"

"It is a forest; the greatest in the whole of Arda, Greenwood," Felith answered. Her voice was tinged with happy anticipation, but her eyes told a different tale. The true tale. In spite of her words, she was unsure of her decision. "We will live among the trees, side by side with animals and rivers and flowers. Does that prospect not excite you?"

Thranduil shifted uncomfortably under the gazes of his parents. They wanted so much for him to be pleased – they were doing it all for him, after all – but… "Yes. I suppose. But, I do not want to live in a tree. I'm not sure that would be safe. I'd fall asleep and roll out."

"Have you ever slept in a tree, ion-nín?" Oropher smiled as the Elfling's golden head shook quickly. "Then, how can you know what will happen in one's boughs? Trust us. You will be safe. This new life will be perfect."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Further away up the road, Saeldur sat on a stone wall with his legs folded comfortably beneath him. His green eyes flicked from side to side, watching a mouse as it ran in circles, foraging for food amongst the grass. There were no cats around, but he had seen an owl fly overhead twice now. He was almost tempted to capture the mouse and hide it behind the wall, but breaking that food chain would deprive the winged family of a meal, and they were far superior. Those who were better deserved to prosper. He shifted slightly, pulling one knee up to his chest and letting the other leg dangle from the wall. Tens of thousands of stars twinkled above him, and a barely exigent breeze played with tendrils of his hair. He loved being outside. Stone walls were too claustrophobic a prison, especially when they hid the sky. This was perfect, though. Quiet, gently scenic and full to bursting with Nature's children. Perfect.

"If only I had a book," Saeldur murmured aloud.

"Penneth?" Vehiron materialised out of the night and stopped at the wall, a half smile upon his lips. "Whatever are you sat there for? You cannot be comfortable."

"I am."

"Suit yourself."

Saeldur swung himself down to the ground, landing easily with hardly a sound, and looked at his father. He did not return the smile. "May we return home now, or do you have other late night visits to undertake? Some Elves may not appreciate a knock on their door at this hour."

"No, I am finished." Vehiron's bright eyes were cast towards the ground. It seemed he too had found the mouse. "I don't suppose Oropher has spoken to you at all, if he is even yet home? Have you been given an explanation?"

"As to what, precisely? Why Thranduil and I were shut away in his room for…one, two, three, four, five, six, six hours?" Saeldur snapped, counting jerkily on his fingers. "You adults may have been angry, and I apologise in advance for my disrespectful words, but I do not think for one moment that was called for. An hour, yes. I would even have accepted two. But six? What were you thinking?"

"I forgive your anger, for I understand that it must have been frustrating," Vehiron replied quietly. "However, neither you nor your cousin were being punished. At least, not for the full six hours. After you both left, Oropher, Felith and I…spoke."

_Spoke._ Saeldur arched an eyebrow, waiting in silence for elaboration on the word. When it came he listened just as quietly, looking down at the ground, directing his concealed surprise at the brown mouse still scurrying through the grass. This was not what he had expected. He had known, of course, that something of great importance had happened between the older Elves, but this was a surprising revelation. They were leaving Lindon. Leaving the Noldor behind and starting a new life somewhere else. Using all of his skills as a fine actor he kept his fair features impassive, blank as an empty canvas. It seemed to work. Vehiron looked disappointed at the lack of reaction.

The younger of the two raised one slender hand, and examined his fingernails as though he and his father were discussing nothing more than the weather. "So, we will not be leaving with Uncle Oropher in two days. We stay to… What?"

"Sort out his affairs and our own. If you want to leave earlier rather than stay, I am happy for you to travel with them," Vehiron replied. "It would be nice to have some familiar company on the road when I go to Greenwood, but I do understand, after today, if you would prefer to leave Lindon sooner."

"How much later?" Saeldur asked quietly.

"A few weeks, maybe a month. You have a day or so to make up your mind, so… Think on it." An owl swooped overhead, and both Elves glanced down at the mouse. It had frozen in place, not moving even its tail as the bird's wings flapped with silent grace. It seemed paralysed with fear. Vehiron watched it a moment, and shook his head slowly. "As I said, you have a day or so. I would rather have you with me, but I will not make your decisions for you."

"Adar, I know why you want that, and I do not blame you. But, I am not your wife." Saeldur never said 'my mother'. He could not, though he had tried countless times. Never knowing the one who had brought him into being seemed to forbid it. "I will not take such a risk that my very life is in jeopardy. You need not worry."

Vehiron nodded, just once. "I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

A small smile pulled Saeldur's lips upwards, and he touched a hand to his father's shoulder. "I have come to a decision already. I will journey with you. What are a few weeks to an Elf? They will fly by, I am sure of it."

"Of course." Vehiron looked as though he wanted to say more, a lot more, but instead he swallowed down the words and took a different path. He had never been good at emotions. "Ion-nin, about this afternoon… I want you to try and put it in the past. I should not have said what I did, and I should not have raised my voice. I am sorry for that."

"No. I am more at fault than you are. I took matters into my own hands, and that was wrong of me. Next to Thranduil I am an adult, and that sometimes makes me forget that I am not quite there yet," Saeldur countered ruefully. "You spoke truthfully. I do still have a little more time before youth is behind me."

Vehiron raised one cynical eyebrow at that, but the honesty in his son's green eyes pulled it back downwards again. "Good. I am glad that you see what I do. I am not ready to let my only child turn into an adult just yet. Leave it a year, will you?"

"I will try," Saeldur agreed. "Now, can we go home? And will you tell me what you and Aunt Felith were doing?"

"Yes, to both. I met with Elves who will be travelling to Greenwood, and we have started to arrange horses and provisions and the like," Vehiron explained, "whilst Felith gathered the women together. They will take charge of any children on the journey and…"

The younger Sinda listened with only one ear as they walked up the road towards their own house, silently commending himself on his acting. It rarely failed him, and was often the reason for a truce between he and his father. Sorry was a difficult word to say, but having a talent which allowed him to speak it without meaning it was a boon. Sometimes he meant it. Not tonight. Tonight he was still quietly furious that he had been unjustly treated and shut away like a petty criminal.

A piercing shriek sounded from further down the road, and both Elves turned as one to face it. All they saw was the owl, rising from a dive which had taken it to the ground, right on top of the mouse. Vehiron winced and continued walking, but Saeldur stood rooted to the spot, watching in morbid fascination as the bird flew off into the night. A smile, unseen by his father, touched his lips. His eyes shone.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Hey, a couple of days late this week. I've been busy with work and not been feeling so well, but the chapter is up now so I hope you like it. Thank you very much to everyone who has left me reviews thus far; I'll send you your own replies when I've finished updating. To people who are reading and not reviewing, I hope you're enjoying it too!**

**See you next week!**

**Misto**

**x-x**


	5. Into the Mountains

**5**

Anor's roseate rays did not stain the sky. It was yet early, Ithil still visible against a canvas of dark azure as tiny stars gently winked out of existence, one by one. A soft breeze whistled through the dawn air, bringing with it the tender smells which accompany such early hours. Frost. Dewdrops. Aromas from kitchens already awake and bustling with life. Diurnal animals venturing out of hiding places. From somewhere high up in a treetop or upon a roof, a solitary bird sang a song of high pitched, nonsensical beauty, welcoming the start of a new day, greeting the Sun's imminent arrival and bidding farewell to the pale crescent of the Moon.

Eighteen horses of numerous shades – chestnut, ebony, dapple, snow white – stood restlessly in the road, pointed ears flicking in all directions, hooves brushing against the ground as they awaited instructions. A touch or whispered word from their master or mistress would still them only momentarily, and then the anxiety would surface once again. Twelve riding horses, five pack animals… These would accompany the Sindar of Lindon from that kingdom into the unknown, where new lives waited for them. Anticipation from the Elves fuelled their own uneasy temperaments, conceiving a longing for the open road and beyond. Not long now.

Anticipation. Yes, it touched each immortal with fingers like wisps of smoke, adding to the ever present emotions of fear, excitement and apprehension so that an un-nameable feeling was born. It dictated that few words were exchanged, just silent glances between friends, lovers, strangers, which spoke with a hundred readable meanings. There was no need to say anything. The eyes, bright in dawn's early light, were as audible as speech.

Just three children were yet included among the group of twelve adults. Two sat together on the floor, leaning against each other for support as they held slender hands to their mouths to hide yawns. Brothers, they were close in appearance with dark hair and hazel eyes, although one was taller, a few years older. A short way apart from them another boy, auburn haired this time, lay on the ground drawing lazy patterns in the dust with one finger until two adolescents, one male and one female, fixed him with reproving stares. He straightened reluctantly. His finger did not stop its absent work, an almost rebellious action in light of his siblings' silent scoldings.

One dark haired Sinda watched the exchange until it finished before turning his eyes upon the previously occupied space at his side. The green pools widened just slightly. "Where did… Where is he?"

"Worry not, he will return," a blonde lady replied. "I believe he neglected to bid farewell to the house."

"The…house? Why ever would he do that?" The male Elf's ebony head shook in unconcealed disbelief. "It will not miss him."

"Oropher, don't you go dragging him back out here. Let him say goodbye to anything he wants," Felith warned. "All he has known since birth he will not see again. Besides which, perhaps you are wrong. Children are far more interesting than adults. I think the house _will_ miss him. I would."

"Then it is lucky that you are not being separated from him," Oropher said with a soft smile. "Lucky that we are all starting this new life together."

He snaked one arm around his wife's waist, pulling her close and depositing a kiss upon her head. As though encouraged by the display, some of the other Elves struck up conversation amongst themselves. The brother and sister stole the chance to reach down and haul their sibling to his feet, and hiss quiet warnings that they expected him to behave. A young bonded couple relaxed in each other's arms, and two warrior brothers began counting their arrows aloud. Another soldier, tall and broad shouldered, strode towards Oropher and Felith. Though his countenance was hard like steel, his dark eyes glittered in cheerful greeting, silently belying his skill as a fighter.

"Time passes, my Lord," he noted evenly. "Anor will soon be high in the sky, and we will have lost precious minutes."

"Please do not call me that. We are all equals here, moving away from a life of division," Oropher responded. He paused, and let his green gaze travel skywards. It narrowed as it fell upon the Sun starting to show her face, an orange stain upon a lightening background. "You are right about the time, Rochendil. On whom do we wait? Just Taldur and his family?"

"Aye. Tegalad and Fainauriel have now arrived, so yes. Unless… Do you think?" Rochendil voiced softly, "That he will forsake this journey? He would not be the first."

No. He would not. Oropher gave the tall warrior a sharp glance, and set about checking that his own weapons were in place with a methodical calm. Since his revelation two days back that he would be leaving Lindon, thirty followers had slowly but surely become twenty-six, then twenty-three, nineteen. He had listened to excuses ranging from 'Thinking of it, I have yet to experience trouble with the Noldor' to 'My wife would prefer to stay, and it is in my best interests to adhere to her wishes' with understanding nods and soft replies that he had never made them swear any oath. Still, Taldur's was a family of five. He could not lose them too.

A gentle brush caught Oropher's attention, and his eyes fell upon the innocent face of his Elfling, bowed studiously towards the ground. He shared a glance with Felith; kneeling, he directed the child's gaze towards him. "Where did you go, little one?"

"Um… Nowhere, just…" Thranduil flashed a winning smile. Most times it aided him if there was the risk of trouble. _Most _times. "Just home. To say goodbye."

"To what?"

"Everything! The garden, the kitchen, my room, my window seat," the boy replied enthusiastically. The tiredness which touched the other children seemed to hold no sway over him. "I will miss it, so I had to say farewell and thank it for letting us live there."

Oropher hid a smile. Talking to houses. Whatever next? Trees? "I see. But tell me, what did I say to you? About leaving your mother and I?"

Thranduil's bright smile faltered at his father's tone. He tried to take a step back to Felith, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him still. "You told me…" He sighed deeply. "Not to."

"I believe that is correct. What did I say would happen if you disobeyed?"

"Ada, I'm sorry. I did not mean to…" Thranduil fell silent, unable to keep from flinching as the older Elf's hand tightened on his shoulder. Perhaps his smile was losing its touch. "You said that if I walked away by myself, you would…leave me behind."

"Do you want to stay in Lindon?" Oropher questioned evenly.

"No, Ada." The child's voice was just a hum above a whisper. "I want to go with you and Nana. I should have stayed by your side, I know. I will not do it again. Just, please don't make me stay behind."

Felith folded her arms underneath her breasts, watching through narrowed eyes as her husband straightened once more, replying grimly that he would consider it. Really, Thranduil had not deserved that. A reprimand, perhaps, but not that. Now he would be terrified, and the task of allaying his fears would fall to her. As he was directed to go and stand with the horses and not move even an inch, the Elf lady levelled Oropher with an accusing stare. Her deep blue pools glittered, quietly angry.

"That was not called for."

Oropher raised his eyes skywards, silently applying that same statement to his wife's argument. "Do you think? Would you say so if he wandered off in the dark hours of the night during our journey? Meleth-nín, I want our son at either my side or yours every second of every day unless he has permission to be elsewhere. Mayhap I am being overly cautious, but I will take no risks."

"I know, and I think that you should try and forbid your worry to command you," Felith said softly. She nodded as her husband's green eyes widened. "Yes, worry. You fear that Taldur and his family will make no appearance. Unwilling to voice such fears, you channel your worry into anger, which you are _not_ afraid to display."

"Meleth, I need them to be here. I need to…rescue them," Oropher whispered. "Every Elf staying in Lindon, somehow I feel responsible for them. I feel that by leaving them, I am betraying them."

"Why do you allow such thoughts to cloud your mind? Were you their ruler, I would understand, but you hold no such power," Felith soothed. "It is not your lot in life to bear such a burden. Why heap it upon yourself so needlessly?"

"My Lord!"

Oropher looked up sharply at the call, and his breath caught as an Elven family materialised in the group. Taldur, a military advisor, stood with his dark haired wife, Vendethiel. Their three children, two adolescent girls and a boy of somewhere around Thranduil's age, waited slightly behind. The boy's cheeks were flushed pink as though touched with embarrassment, and his sisters wore amused smiles. Their father cast an exasperated glanced backwards before beginning his explanation.

"I hope you can forgive our tardiness," he began smoothly. "My son, Veassen. He seemed to think it important that he say farewell to the house. A foolish notion, I know. Children."

"Foolish indeed," Oropher concurred. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of his own son standing where he had been told to. He had not moved. "Or perhaps not quite as foolish as we think. Come, let us move on. We have tarried long enough. Taldur, three horses remain. One for yourself, Vendethiel and…" He paused, and glanced at the eldest daughter. "Anira? Edhilwen will ride with Anira and Veassen with your wife. Is that well?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Wonderful. And Taldur… Do not call me that," Oropher admonished with a small smile.

The travellers started to mount their horses, parents and siblings pulling children up to sit before them. The Elfling who had been lying in the dust gave a scowl as his brother deposited him almost roughly in front of his sister, but a firm arm around his waist kept him quiet. One of the two brothers who had been leaning against each other sat in front of the young maiden journeying with her bonded, and the smaller was upon his father's horse. Oropher felt a twinge of sadness as he walked past them to reach his own family. They were travelling without a mother.

Felith had already mounted her dark mare, and was leaning down to whisper with her son when her husband appeared. The conversation stopped, and she sat up straight in the saddle with a rueful smile. Nothing came from Thranduil. He just drew patterns in the dust with the toe of his boot, quietly awaiting judgement to be passed. As Oropher regarded him, he wondered absently if the child had truly believed that he would be left behind. Most likely. He was a sensitive soul.

"Thranduil."

The Elfling looked up at his name, and took a tentative step forwards. Eyes like green steel bore into his wide blue ones, hard, cool. He swallowed, waiting silently to be addressed. He was sure that his father would not dare leave him in Lindon, but… _No, don't be foolish. He would not do that. Nana said so. _Nevertheless, in front of Oropher's stern countenance, the child could not help the twinge of apprehension which tugged sharply at him. He had to say something, just to break the quietude which lay so heavily between them.

"Ada, I-

Oropher silenced his son without words, leaning down and swinging the boy into his arms. A smile touched his lips as a surprised gasp sounded by his ear. "You are forgiven, starling," he whispered. "Just stay close to us. It is not an unfair request."

"No," Thranduil agreed, ending the word with a breath of relief. "I will from now on, I promise. I will not go anywhere without you or Nana."

With a single nod as his seal of much needed approval, the dark haired Sinda positioned his child atop Felith's horse, and mounted his own gray stallion in one fluid movement, as graceful as any cat. He would have liked to have his son ride with him, but it had already been agreed that the women and older adolescents would take charge of the children until reaching Greenwood, leaving the males free to wield their weapons if any danger arose. Though he had checked them three times already since rising, Oropher let his hand drift down to the knives at his side. They were cool against his fingers, silently deadly. He sent an inaudible prayer to the Valar, asking them to spare the immortal company from walking into any peril, for the sake of the young ones. A far fetched wish, perhaps, but there was no harm in wishing for the best.

"Ada, did you mean it?"

Oropher started at the youthful voice, and looked up to see his son's deep blue eyes riveted upon him. "Did I…? What, ion-nín? Did I mean what?"

"That you would leave me behind," Thranduil replied. "In Lindon."

"No, little star. That was spoken as an empty threat. I would not leave without you," the dark haired Elf soothed. "Did you truly fear that your mother and I would go to Greenwood alone?"

There was no answer. Oropher opened his mouth to press for one, but he paused at the expression on his child's face. The Elfling's eyes were wide, staring up the road as though blind to the other Elves surrounding him, deaf to the soft murmurs which started to spread through the group like wildlife, for coming closer and steadily closer was High King Gil-galad with a guard of some twenty soldiers. Lord Elrond was at his side, and a smile pulled his lips upwards as his gray gaze fell upon Thranduil. The child blushed, and smiled back. He had not expected to see his new friend again.

"Your Highness." Oropher dismounted, and bowed low to the young ruler. "The hour is early. That you have arisen at such a time is a surprise, and…and an honour. I thank you for your consideration." 

Gil-galad raised a slender hand, waving away the words. On one long finger was a signet ring, denoting him as the leader of Lindon. Its quietly elaborate jewels were bright in the dim light of dawn, glittering and reflecting off each other. "No, no. Until you leave the boundaries of this region, I remain your King. What King would I be if I did not bid my subjects farewell? Especially when they are setting out on such a journey as this."

"Nevertheless, we are grateful," Oropher replied quietly. "For everything. You took us in after the Fall of Doriath. Your own kingdom was newly founded and you did not have to… Despite the animosity which yet lies between the Noldor and Sindar, we will not forget that. You helped us in our time of need. You are helping us again."

"As I said, what King would I be if I did otherwise?" Gil-galad's penetrating eyes ran over the group of Elves still seated on horseback, letting them rest briefly on each one before coming back to gaze once more upon the dark haired Sinda stood before him. "You and I will meet again. For now, may the Valar speed you on your path and watch over you. Farewell."

Oropher returned the leave taking in little more than a murmur, but his attention was not given to the words he spoke. Rather, he watched the High King's face carefully as he bowed again and straightened, although it gave away no secrets. _You and I will meet again. Where? When? Why? What could possibly bring us, one a sovereign and one a…commoner, together? _He performed another bow, not quite so deep, to Lord Elrond, the same thoughts running through his mind over and over again, confused, nonsensical. Nothing could unite he and Gil-galad. Not now that he was leaving, not when there would be a thousand leagues between them. The ruler's words had merely been… _Protocol. Just that. Something scripted which no doubt he speaks to every one who steps out of his kingdom. _Telling himself that as many times as he had asked questions, Oropher turned back towards his horse. He faltered for just a second. All eyes were upon him, expectant and waiting for some instruction. From him, leader though he was not.

"Do we move out, my Lord?" Rochendil asked quietly.

"Yes. And don't call me that," Oropher replied, his soft answer clipped. He swung himself up onto his stallion and took a moment to inhale silently, desperately wishing that the breath would calm him slightly. It did not. A touch, barely felt, alighted upon the back of his hand. He looked up sharply.

"Are you well?" Thranduil whispered. "Ada…"

"There is no need for you to worry. I am quite well, thank you penneth." The older Sinda flashed a gentle smile as he gathered up his reins, extending it to Felith before looking back at his child. "Ready for an adventure?"

Anor grew in the gradually brightening sky, a great ball of rapidly reddening flame, and Ithil became non-existent as the Sindar folk set off on their journey to a new life in Arda's greatest forest. Gil-galad stood motionless, enjoying the tug on strands of his dark hair as soft breezes whispered through the kingdom, the touch of heat on his cheeks as the Sun aged. He watched his people leave, watched their first tentative steps like infants learning to walk, and felt a smile materialise on his fair face. He was glad that they were going. They deserved happiness, and that was what they would find when their travels came to an end. Freedom. Friendship. A world without tragic histories or painful presents. A joyous future. Yes. They did deserve such pleasures.

The thought never crossed the High King's mind that maybe…just maybe, they would not find that.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was midday when the band of travelling Elves stopped for a period of rest, seven hours after leaving Lindon. They had not yet stepped out of the large region ruled over by Gil-galad, but it would not be long before freedom was theirs. The feet of the Ered Luin lay close at hand, within walking distance from the forest of sweet smelling trees which they had entered after crossing the river whose silvery waters separated Forlindon from the mountains. The trees, standing like tall sentinels close together kept out the blazing heat of the Sun, high above in the sky, providing a cool shade for which the Elves, especially the children, were grateful. The river gave them a chance to refill empty water skins and refresh the horses, though none of the sturdy animals had yet tired of the leisurely journey.

After setting out, the Elflings had toiled hard to keep their eyes focused on the strange surroundings which passed them by, but tiredness caught up with them before too long. Only one out of the six had remained stubbornly awake, despite warnings that he would be too weary to rise when it was time to break camp and move on. It was Linwë, the boy who had irritated his brother and sister back in Lindon. Felith had watched him as she rode with one arm wrapped tightly around her own sleeping child, his youthful antics conceiving smiles upon her face when conversation was still. Already she could tell that he would bring much laugher during the following weeks. Perhaps he would inspire some confidence in her quiet son.

Now, hours on, the children were gathered together in a circle as the adult Elves went about their various tasks around the clearing they had halted in. Thranduil lay on his front, resting his head on both arms and playing inconspicuously with the long blades of grass which tickled his bare skin, almost but not quite making him laugh. He listened only half-heartedly to the discussions taking place around him, although he would not admit the reason why. He was too shy, the only child who did not know any other in the circle or have any siblings present. So he contented himself with remaining unheard and unnoticed. That was more comfortable.

"Well, you are rude."

It took a moment for him to realise that all of the other Elflings were watching him. He raised his head quickly, and stared at the one who had spoken. It was the second daughter of Taldur and Vendethiel. "I am sorry… Edhilwen?" He blushed as she nodded frostily. She was mid-way through her adolescent years, an elder to him. "I did not hear what you said. Were you talking to me?"

"Were you even listening?" Edhilwen returned.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the boy at his side nudged him gently, silencing him before he began. "Doesn't matter if you were not. I stopped a while back."

"At least I am not the only one," Thranduil smiled. "What were you talking about? I am sorry; I do not know your name."

"Linwë."

"Oh. Linwë, what were you talking about?"

Edhilwen leaned forwards before the boys' conversation could continue, glaring at them both as though she considered their presence to be particularly insulting. "If you _must_ know, we were introducing ourselves. If we are to travel together all the way to Greenwood, we may as well know each other's names. I hope you do not disapprove of this idea, as _someone _does." She turned her haughty gaze upon Linwë. "I think it is rather good."

"Only because you thought of it," another boy piped up quietly. He looked at Thranduil, baring his teeth in a quick smile. "You will become accustomed to her ways. I have, but that is because I've known her ever since birth."

"Look, we have only been away from Lindon for seven hours, and in each other's company for all of seven minutes," a raven haired boy sighed. He was of an age with Edhilwen; together, they were the eldest of the children. "I do not think that arguing so soon into the journey is very mature of us. Let us do as she proposed. We _should _know who we are travelling with."

Thranduil sat up, curling his legs underneath himself and nodding agreement. "I will listen this time. Perhaps you could start, Edhilwen? It is only fair."

The maiden was stubbornly silent for a moment, but the flattery had touched her, and after a second she began her introduction. "Well, you all know my name. My father is Taldur and my mother Vendethiel; we were the family late this morning, thanks to my little brother here. Veassen." She gestured at the Elfling, who rolled his eyes. "Don't do that, it is uncouth. We have a sister, Anira. She has just reached adulthood, so she does not have to sit with the children. When I reach her age, I will become a dancer."

"A dancer?" Linwë repeated sceptically. "To what will you dance?"

"Songs, fool. What else does once dance to?" Edhilwen retorted. "I will dance in palaces for handsome Elves and Men both, with flowers entwined in my hair and long dresses which trail upon the floor, and… Why do you smirk so?"

The young adolescent who had defended her previously, shot the smaller children cold glares as they hid smiles behind their hands. "It is unfortunate that you are the only maiden in a circle of youths. We cannot appreciate dances and flowers as other girls might."

"No matter, I am sure I can survive," Edhilwen sniffed. "Did you want to speak next? My time seems to be over."

"Thank you." The dark haired boy looked at a slightly younger Elf at his side, and shared a gentle smile with him. "I am Soron, travelling with my father Nendir and my brother Castien. You will not hear him speak often, I fear. He is timid. He does not take too well to strangers, something which proves problematic when they address him. With time he will open up, but…"

"I don't think there is shame in shyness," Thranduil contributed quietly. Castien, dark of hair and eye as his sibling, was close in age to himself. Perhaps close in personality, too. "If all of us spoke loudly without pause, we would be deafened."

"Why did you say that and look at me?" Edhilwen asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

"Did I?"

"Yes."

Before his sister could start a quarrel, Veassen leaned forwards to direct all attention onto himself. "May I ask a question, Soron?"

Soron hesitated a moment, whispering something unheard into his brother's pointed ear, and giving another tender smile. Castien nodded quickly as he rose and left the circle without another look back. "Yes. Ask what you will, although I think I know what your query will be. You would know why we travel without a mother."

"Don't say if you would rather not," Linwë said sharply.

"No, I will. I just wanted to give a reply without Castien close enough to hear. He… It happened when he was born, she…" Soron bit on his lower lip, tangling his fingers in the blades of grass and pulling hard. "She died. I don't know what…how the birth went wrong, but it did and I – we – lost our mother. Our father raised us alone."

"Does Castien not know?" Veassen asked curiously. "If you did not want him to hear…" 

"He knows, and it is knowledge so painful to bear that keeping it at bay as best we can is in the interests of all concerned. I would appreciate your discretion when he is around," Soron answered. At the expressions worn by the younger Elflings, he released a deep sigh. "I mean, do not speak of it when he is close enough to hear. Even better, do not speak of it at all."

Thranduil gazed at the deep eyes of the dark haired Sinda, and his heart constricted uncomfortably. There was something so very wrong there. Soron was young, his voice was a child's, his body was a child's, but his mature words and the depth of his eyes spoke of an adult grief that should never be felt by any youth. He wanted to say sorry, but instinct held the word back. It would be rejected, he knew. Pity would be taken in the wrong way, sympathy too. He silently hoped that the other children would acknowledge that, and keep from pressing the matter further. Perhaps surprisingly, it was Edhilwen who turned the subject in a different direction.

"Linwë. Your turn to speak."

The auburn haired boy scowled, and folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. Green eyes narrowed defiantly, and he shook his head just once. "No. You all know my name. What else is there to say?"

"With whom are you travelling?" Edhilwen sighed.

"You have seen them," Linwë snapped. "My brother and sister."

"Their names?"

"Veryatur. Laire."

"Why are you with them? Why not your mother and-

"My turn!" Thranduil received a grateful smile from Linwë for the intervention, and returned it quickly before throwing his gaze around the circle of youths. Along with Castien, he was the youngest on the journey. Veassen was next, and then Linwë, a few years older still, then came Soron and Edhilwen. The eldest two fixed him with disapproving stares, though both nodded for him to speak. He smiled again. "My name is Thranduil, and I am with my parents. They are Oropher and Felith."

"Of course we know _them_," Veassen scorned. "We are following them, is that not so? It only makes sense that we should know you also, the son of our leaders."

_Leaders. _Thranduil repeated the word silently, and his lips curved upwards in a private smile. He had not thought of that. His mother and father were special. _Not just to me now. _"Very well," he continued slowly. "I have an uncle and cousin too, and we will be meeting them at Mithlond, or somewhere after. They have ridden ahead to purchase horses or ponies for us younger Elves, and will join us in Greenwood in a few months time. I look forward to that."

"Are you close to your cousin?" Linwë asked quietly.

"That depends on his temper," Thranduil retorted. "He is the nearest I have to a sibling, so I do try. He is much older than me. Somewhere between your brother and sister, I think."

"What is his name?"

"Saeldur."

"Oh."

Silence fell, and the children busied themselves tugging at blades of grass, playing with tunic sleeves or loose strands of hair. Now that the introductions were complete, there was nothing to say, nothing that would be appropriate after knowing each other for just a matter of minutes. Thranduil cast his mind around for a suitable topic, anything to break this uncomfortable quiescence, but inspiration was negligent in arriving. He shrugged his shoulders. Let the older youths think of something. If Edhilwen was so clever, she should not find it difficult. He was content to sit on the sidelines and just go wherever the tide took him. That was the easiest option.

A shadow was thrown over the small group as Castien arrived back. He kicked nervously at the soft ground, clearly wanting to say something but silenced by his shyness. His large dark eyes travelled to Soron, and he kicked again. "Um… The adults want me to tell you that…they have prepared food." His words came out as little more than a whisper. "They want us to return."

As he rose, Thranduil smiled at the other Elfling, though all he received in return was a blank stare. He felt no offence at that. He was nowhere near as unassertive as Castien, but he did understand how intimidating it felt to be the only quiet one in a group of confident Elves. Perhaps the length of the journey to Greenwood would form bonds amongst the children, and Soron's brother would find the strength to step out of his shell and join in with conversations and games. The blond Sinda hoped so. Otherwise, it would be a very miserable few weeks.

"Wait!"

He paused at the call, and turned to see Linwë running to catch up with him. "Sorry. I was not sure whether you were coming this way," he replied warmly.

"My brother and sister are near to your parents," the older boy explained. "Listen, I just wanted to thank you for taking Edhilwen's attention away from me. I am grateful. You did not have to."

"I did," Thranduil countered. "I could see that you were uncomfortable."

Linwë spread his hands indifferently. His green eyes were unblinking, fixed straight ahead on a point that only he could see. "Well, I am still grateful, although I suppose now you want to hear my story as payment for your kindness. That is fine. I am in your debt, so… It is fine."

"Actually, I did not wonder even once why you are travelling with just your brother and sister. It is not my place to do so," Thranduil said. Hurt laced his voice that the other child thought he was so inconsiderate. "You have your own reasons for not wanting to give anything away, and I respect those. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Oh." Linwë stopped in the middle of the clearing, a short way from his siblings to the left and Oropher and Felith to the right, and touched a hand to the younger boy's shoulder. A bright smile touched his lips. "I like you. We could be friends."

Thranduil blinked in surprise. When he opened his eyes a mere split second later, Linwë was already walking away. He watched the retreat for a moment, before turning swiftly and running to his mother and father. He sat between them in silence, and when Felith handed him a plate of dried meat, bread and cheese, he laid it on the floor and just stared at it. Concern flitted across the older Elves' fair faces, and Oropher's strong hand came down to rest upon his back, an inaudible indication that he should speak if something was wrong. He looked up and held first the bright green eyes, then the azure blue, so similar to his own deep pools. His blond head shook slowly. He smiled.

"I think I have made a friend."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

They entered the Blue Mountains that afternoon, an hour after a small group of male Elves had ridden ahead to ensure that the way was clear of anything that could pose the slightest risk of danger. Oropher had gone, along with Rochendil, Taldur and the two warrior brothers, Beinian and Megildur. Nendir had offered to go also, but that had been retracted after Castien refused to let go of his hand. Thranduil had watched the scene surreptitiously, silently wondering how Nendir and Soron had so much patience with the youngest member of their family. Despite knowing the story, it was a surprise to him that they could bear his silence and clinging habits without even batting an eyelid. He was quite sure that his own father would never put up with it.

As they rode along a winding path which wound upwards through the great range of mountains, Thranduil looked over his shoulder to meet his mother's eyes. "Do you think that Ada is safe?" he murmured. "The Ered Luin used to be home to Dwarf-cities, did it not?"

"That is true." Felith's voice was tinged with surprise that her son had remembered the information from his lessons. "Do you recall their names?"

"No."

The lady glanced to the side, sharing a rueful smile with the maiden who rode there. "I should have known it was too good to be true," she sighed. "Perhaps your brother might know, Laire, unless he is anything like my Elfling."

"I think he is worse. Linwë remembers only what he wants to, and that is often the opposite of what Veryatur and I wish for," Laire replied. "Is that not so, little one?" 

The auburn haired boy was sharing a horse with his sister, and he jerked away roughly as her fingers tickled his side. "Don't do that," he muttered. "And actually, I do know the answer. I am not quite as short of knowledge as you think. They were called Nogrod and Belegost, destroyed by Morgoth in the War of Wrath."

Thranduil hid a smile at the smug expression on his new friend's face, and turned his gaze back onto the path they followed. It was rugged, covered in loose debris which could be fatal to animals not blessed with Elven grace. Their mounts had been provided by High King Gil-galad himself, though, and they stepped over the stones lightly, even the pack horses who carried bedrolls and blankets amongst other items too cumbersome for the travellers. Veryatur rode some way ahead with an arrow held ready to notch in an instant if the need arose, whilst Nendir was in the center of the women and children. Tegalad, the young Elf who was with his wife, Fainauriel, provided the rear guard for this journey through the mountains.

"I see Castien let go of his father's hand for a moment," Linwë muttered.

"Don't be cruel," Thranduil replied, just as softly. "I did not like the idea of my father leaving to scout ahead. I don't blame him for wanting to keep Nendir close."

"No, but you did not cry," Linwë argued.

The younger boy shrugged, and glanced over his shoulder once more, further back this time. Castien was riding with Soron, his dark gaze fixed unwaveringly on the ground passing beneath the horse's hooves. "Never mind, I don't want to quarrel over him. Do you think we will see Dwarves? I know their cities were destroyed, but maybe a few remain."

"It would be interesting to meet some of the Naugrim, but those who survived the War of Wrath moved on to a new home, somewhere more hospitable than these broken mountains. I agree with you, though. It would be an experience," Linwë answered pensively. "What would you ask of them? Perhaps they could tell us why they slew King Thingol in Doriath. Why they enjoy living in halls of suffocating stone. If food becomes caught in their beards when they eat."

Thranduil had nodded his concurrence up until that last, then he wrinkled his nose in poorly concealed disgust. "Linwë. That is horrible. I don't want to think of something like…._that_."

"It does conjure an unpleasant image. Speak of something else," Laire chided.

As her horse slid slightly on a loose rock, Felith tightened the already firm hold she had around Thranduil's waist. Only when the animal had righted herself did she release him. "Would you truly like to see a Dwarf? Even knowing that they are dangerous creatures?"

"Yes." The answer from both boys was prompt. "We would."

"Why?"

"They may be dangerous, but surely no more so than Elves can be. Were Fëanor and his sons not Elves? Was it not our kind who were guilty of Kinslaying during the First Age?" Thranduil asked. "I think that we can do just as much damage as the Dwarves. We _have _done just as much damage as them."

"I did not think of that," Linwë admitted. "Nor would it be my reasoning, but it does make sense."

The golden haired Elfling nodded, and absently prodded his loose tooth with the tip of his tongue. It would be out soon, and during the night as he slept, it would be stolen away and replaced by pennies. He had worried that the mysterious Elf who came in the shadows to take away children's teeth would not know where to find him now that he was out of Lindon, but after sharing knowing glances, Oropher and Felith had reassured him that there was no need for him to be anxious. The Carchedhil knew very well where he was, and would find him without trouble. He pushed his tooth a little harder. He _hoped _the Carchedhil would know.

"How long until it falls out?" Linwë asked.

Thranduil stopped his work, and looked up with a smile. "Not long, hopefully. I want it to be out by the time we reach my uncle and cousin, though, so that I can show them. It is a front tooth, the biggest one I have yet lost. Do you still have any to fall out?"

"One left." The older child pulled his lips back, revealing a set of shiny white adult teeth. "Then, my brother and sister will not be able to treat me like an Elfling."

"Losing your baby teeth does not make you a fully grown Elf," Laire smiled. "You have some way to go, little one."

Linwë looked defeated for a moment, with slumped shoulders and a frown upon his fair face. Then he sat up straighter, visibly brightened. "I can help! My brother, Veryatur, he pulled out one of my loose teeth a few years ago. Do you want me to do that?"

"Absolutely _not_," Felith interjected sternly.

"Why?" Thranduil sighed. "That is unfair."

The lady caught her son's braid, and gave it a firm tug to silence him. "I will not dispute this with you. That tooth is staying where it is until it comes out of its own accord, without the help of over-zealous Elflings."

"Fine." Thranduil pulled his braid back over his shoulder out of Felith's reach, and sat atop the horse in dignified quiescence before curiosity overcame him. He leaned towards the riders at his side, and whispered, "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Linwë returned just as softly, "but I think it is a compliment."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

The blond child shared a smile with his friend, but both grins vanished as the sound of hooves pounding against the stony ground reached their ears. The three remaining males, Veryatur, Nendir and Tegalad, gathered together at the front of the group, drawing weapons and readying themselves to defend the women and children from whatever came near. The urge to bury his face deep in his mother's dress overcame him, but Thranduil forced the fear down, seeking silent reassurances from his own mind that all would be well. _We are protected. We are safe. It can't hurt us while the warriors still stand. It can't. It can't. _From somewhere behind him, he heard quiet sobs from Castien. He wished they would stop. _It can't hurt us. Valar, make him stop crying. It can't hurt us. _Soron was comforting his brother, trying in vain to halt the tears, but they continued to stream. _Please stop. It can't hurt us. _

"Be brave," Felith whispered. "I am here, penneth."

Thranduil glanced sideways at Linwë; to his surprise, the cocky boy was deathly pale, knuckles white as he gripped his horse's mane. Laire looked little better. "I know, Nana," he breathed. "I know."

The thundering hooves were coming closer and closer, and he stared past the tall forms of Veryatur and Nendir and Tegalad, past the gleaming tips of their notched arrows, past everything that stood before the corner which concealed whatever approached. Seconds passed, and the children shook in the arms that were circled around them, arms which trembled only slightly less. Thranduil breathed slowly, letting the breaths travel all through his body, wishing that they would calm him. They did not. He had never seen an Orc before, though he had heard stories from his father. They sounded terrifying, worse than anything he could imagine seeing. Once Elves, now dark and twisted and wretched creatures, demons of blackness who hunted down the innocent to slaughter and… He shuddered, and suddenly understood why Castien wept.

"Lower your weapons!"

A horse came into view from around the corner, its rider waving one hand at the defenders who stood ready and waiting. It was Beinian, the elder of the two warrior brothers who had gone ahead to scout with Oropher and the others, and he dismounted fluidly as he reached the group of travellers. His simple tunic and leggings were stained grey with dust, and his fair face was grimy. Nevertheless, he wore a smile and his eyes flashed brightly. He was quick to realise the panic that he had caused, though, for the smile faded slightly as he looked upon the terrified children around him.

"Have no fear," he said softly. "I do not bring any warnings, just news from the scouting party."

"You could have brought it a little less loudly," Nendir snapped.

"I could, but creeping upon you would have guaranteed an arrow through my heart," Beinian justified. "They have stopped just two hours away from us, and that is where we will rest tonight."

"Could we not make it out of the mountains by the morning?" Tegalad asked, replacing his arrow in the quiver slung over his shoulder.

The scout nodded, and took a long drink from his water skin before giving a reply. Dust must have lodged in his throat, for he coughed huskily, and his voice was low as he spoke. "Yes, but some of the paths ahead are too treacherous to be trod in the darkness. Evening will be upon us by the time we reach the others, and that will be the end of our travels this day. The dawn will see us moving once more, and we should be at Mithlond by tomorrow night."

"Then we are making good time," Veryatur approved. "Tell us, though, what explanation is there for the state of your appearance? Did you fall from your horse?"

Beinian laughed good-naturedly, and shook his dark head. "No, not quite. We came across some unstable Dwarvish ruins. Pillars collapsed. Nothing drastic, none of us were hurt at all. We will need to spend much time washing, though."

As the group of travellers rode on again, Thranduil released a long exhale of breath, and looked across at Linwë. The older boy had regained some of his lost colour, but he had yet to release his grip on the horse's mane. This he did wonder at. His new friend had so far always been so sure of himself that this sudden paralysing terror seemed uncharacteristic of him. Still, they _had _only known each other since midday. Perhaps he had just been assuming incorrectly that Linwë was one of those children who were enviably invincible in the face of fear. As he turned his gaze away, he could not help the strange satisfaction that washed over him at that thought. _He is not quite as confident as I deemed. Good. _Then came a wince, a guilty flush. _You told him not to be cruel to Castien, now you are being cruel to him. _

"Are you well, penneth?"

Thranduil started at the sound of his mother's voice by his ear, and he banished the thoughts to the deepest recesses of his mind. "Yes, thank you," he muttered. "Just thinking."

"Of what?"

"Um…things." That would never be enough to sate Felith's pressing inquisitiveness. The child released a silent sigh, and sat up straighter atop their horse. "Beinian said that we will reach Mithlond tomorrow night. Is it safe for us there? Being so close to the sea, I mean."

"We will not venture near it as a precaution, but we must stop in the city. For a start, that is where we are meeting Vehiron and Saeldur, and you do not want to miss them," Felith answered. "And you would do well to remember that on a long journey, although stops may delay travel, taking them when the chance to do so arises is advisable. You can never know when the next town will be."

"I think that stopping at every town or city we pass is foolish," Thranduil retorted. "We will still be travelling to Greenwood this time next year, if we do."

Felith pulled at her son's braid again, slightly harder than she had done previously. "Mind your manners, Elfling. Wait until you have passed into adulthood before speaking so to your elders."

"Sorry, Nana." Facing the road ahead with a scowl, the blond child wondered how many times he had voiced an apology since waking that morning. That had to have been the fourth occasion. _It won't happen again. I swear. _He poked moodily at his loose tooth, but the roots which still held it in place resisted against his touch. His scowl deepened. _Stupid thing. Maybe I _will _let Linwë pull it out. _With another soft exhalation, he leaned back against Felith. It would be a long two hours.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Darkness had fallen a long while back, and as the moon travelled slowly but surely across the inky sky above the mountain range outside Lindon, it was all Oropher could do not to clench his fist and slam it against the ground. He had never been one prone to emotional or violent displays, but the Elves he had left behind earlier that day in order to scout ahead had been due at the campsite over two hours back. There had been neither sight nor sound of them, and that ate away at his heart like a disease. Not only were his so called 'followers' out there, but so too were his wife and son, and that was worse than anything he could imagine. They had to be well. They had to be.

Megildur, Rochendil and Taldur were also present around the fire, but they spoke no words, either to him or amongst each other. Conversation was understandably stagnant. Each of them had family or at least friends out there, and the fear which had alighted upon them all was tangible in the cool night air. A gentle breeze made its way through the mountains, and Oropher let his head fall back against the stone wall behind him. It was rough and cut against his skin, but he just let the stinging sensation happen. It was a much needed distraction from the painful thoughts which would not leave his mind, no matter how fiercely he tried to push them.

"Why are we sat here idly?"

"They will come."

"Do you think so?" 

The hushed voices cut into his reverie, but he did not move his head nor take his gaze from the high up moon to give an answer. "If they were not coming, we would be out there looking for them. I know you are worried, Taldur. I feel no less than you do."

"Is that the truth?"

At that, Oropher did turn his eyes upon the other Elf. He met a pair of deep brown pools, silently accusing as they stared hard at him and through him, but he did not rise to the bait. "Forgive me, but I find myself unsure of the meaning behind your words." His voice was calm; it belied the dizzying emotions which weighed so heavily upon him. "Mayhap you would care to explain."

"My wife and children are somewhere – anywhere – out there," Taldur replied quietly, leaning forwards and gesturing towards the mountains surrounding them. "I know my thoughts on their absence. Were it not for your orders to remain here, I would have been searching for them a long while back. Your wife and son are in the same predicament, but you are content to sit and wait. That surprises me. It also implies that you are wrong; you _do _feel less than I."

"Firstly, I gave no orders. They were suggestions which you took to be commands because of my position in the company. You are not tied; you can get up and leave if that is your wish. Secondly, I would not use 'content' to describe my current state of mind," Oropher said softly. "I am terrified, but I look past that because I cannot allow my fear to make rash decisions for me. We could start a search for them, but we may not find our way back to the appointed meeting place, which is this very spot. We could have two go to look and two remain, but then we run the risk of losing and not finding each other. If we stay, we can keep the fire burning high as a signal to the others. We can keep a lookout for them here and maintain the best site for a camp we have seen since entering these mountains. This is no small range, Taldur. Whilst seeking the others, we could pass them by and not know it. Would you run that risk?"

"As you wish it." Sidestepping the question, Taldur rose fluidly, using the back of one slender hand to brush the mountain's dust from his clothes. His dark gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon the rocky wall, as though looking at his companions after their apparent betrayal was a particularly offensive notion. "I am going to the pool to refill my water skin. I walk alone."

Silence descended as he turned and strode away to the fresh water source they had stumbled upon, his booted feet making little noise on the loose stones. Megildur poked at the fire with a long stick, the flames bright in the deep pools of his eyes. Oropher regarded him, not daring to break the deadly quiescence, the way a caught deer watches his hunter, waiting for the other to attack, wondering whether he will be granted a reprieve this once.

It was Rochendil who dropped a stone into the still waters. "Taldur will bear no grudge." Confidence touched his voice. "Have faith in that. You did no wrong."

Megildur threw his stick, lightly smouldering, atop the fire, and pulled one knee up to his chest. "No. You were right to pass that judgement, though it cannot sit comfortably with you. Does it?"

Emerald eyes flashed, but the owner's voice was deceptively calm. "Remaining here with the flames as a signal will attract the others," Oropher replied quietly. _Wherever they may be. _

That silence, as profound and tangible as before, fell upon them once more. Time passed. None counted the minutes. None noticed as the night became pitch black, closing in around them, wrapping them like an impenetrable blanket of obsidian. Only when Taldur returned was there some small amount of noise, a subtle shifting as they moved apart slightly to make room for him in the circle. He held out his full water skin to Oropher, a peace offering, an inaudible apology for his previous bitterness.

More time vanished into the past. The waiting was painful. The not knowing. The ignorance in a race so full of knowledge tore at them as a savage beast tears at a piece of dripping meat. They had friends somewhere out there. Travelling companions. Worse, wives and children. As Oropher's mind drifted to his own small family, it began resenting the seemingly wise decision he had made. _Go to them. They need you. Go. Go!_

"Do you hear that?"

Megildur's eager voice broke into his dark thoughts, and the sound of hooves upon stone was not far behind it. The four immortals were on their feet in perfect unison, backs to the mountain wall hanging behind and over them, staring out into the night with eyes brightened by fierce anticipation. No words were exchanged. They just continued to wait, a skill perfected by long hours of practicing it.

When the first of the horses appeared on the slight rise in front of their camp, four sharp breaths as one came from those who had scouted ahead – it seemed so very long ago that they had left their companions – and they went forwards to greet their loved ones. As he sought his own wife and son, Oropher ran his eyes over the group, silently counting every dark and blonde and auburn head, assuring that all were present and accounted for. A part of his mind told him that the job did not belong to him – _Valar, I am no leader! – _but he felt somehow responsible.

"Ada!" 

He spun around at the cry, and all musings fled his mind as a flash of gold launched itself against him. Felith followed at a slightly more refined pace, and he met her cerulean gaze with his own emerald one as he detached the small arms from around his waist to instead lift the child. Thranduil held him as he would a single piece of debris in the ocean, his grip around his neck bordering on painful. To his young mind, the four hours since they were last together must have seemed unbearably long.

"I missed you," he breathed against his father's pointed ear. "They said we may have had to set up camp because it has become so dark, but I did not want to. I wanted to see you again. Did you miss me, Ada?"

Oropher laughed, a musical sound, at the innocent question, and slipped one arm around Felith's waist. He shared a brief kiss with her – too brief – before brushing his lips across their son's smooth cheek. "Yes, my star. I missed you. More than you can imagine." A pause, and his eyes fluttered shut at the memories of that separation. "Why did it take you so long? Did you lose your way?"

"No! One of the horses was injured because a jagged stone cut her foot, so Veassen's mother had to make it better. She heals animals, Ada!" Thranduil explained enthusiastically. "But the wound was still sore so we had to move all of the baggage from the horse's back and share it out amongst us and the other pack animals, and we had to travel slowly so as not to hurt her further. _That _is why we were late. Were you worried? Nana said you would be, but I didn't think so. Were you?"

"Is there anything more to add to that stream of words?" Oropher asked, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

Thranduil's blue eyes narrowed in mock thought, and he shook his head slowly. "I do not _think_ so. Were you worried?"

"Worried? No, of course not. I knew that I could trust you to look after your mother for me, and you did not fail in that." The dark haired Elf watched with tender pleasure as his only child flushed happily. Worry. Painful fear was closer to the mark. He smiled again, and lowered the boy back to the ground. "There is a pool in that cave just beyond where my horse is resting. Go in there and fill you water skin. It must be near to empty by now."

"May Linwë come with me?"

"If he has permission."

Felith watched their son run off to seek his new friend, resting her head against Oropher's shoulder as her gaze followed the Elfling. "He may have believed your words, but I know you too well to be so easily fooled. You did worry. For all of us out there."

"Yes." There was no point in denying it, not to his wife. "I was terrified."

"Meleth-nín… I am sorry that you were put through such fear, but banish it now," Felith whispered. "We are here now."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Your brother and sister were not happy about you coming to the pool."

At the unasked question, Linwë held his fingers still. They had been trailing back and forth through the water, and their absence left feeble ripples behind. "No. They were not." His face was a blank canvas, but hazel eyes flickered, silently betraying the impassiveness he worked so hard to maintain. "Perhaps they think you will be a bad influence on me."

"That is amusing." Thranduil snickered softly, and capped the lid on his filled water skin. "They are very protective of you, though. They must love you very much."

"Hmm. They do, but at times I feel stifled. It is as though they are my mother and father rather than…" As though he had spoken something forbidden, Linwë bit hard on his lower lip. "I mean, they were not always like this. Just since… They…"

Thranduil watched his friend struggling, silently wondering at the other boy's inability to even form a sentence. "I told you this morning," he murmured, "that I don't want to know anything about you if you are not comfortable speaking of it. I have not asked any questions. Nor will I."

"I do appreciate it. Most others would pry," Linwë said quietly. He stared into the pool at his own reflection, and it brightened in an instant as thought struck. "May I pull your tooth out now?"

"What? No!"

"Your mother is not here to see."

"And?"

"I will not tell her," Linwë continued slyly. "And I asked politely."

The blond boy raised one hand to his mouth, and shook his head vehemently. "No. I was thinking about it whilst riding, and I decided that it would hurt more if we force it out so. I don't much like pain. And I don't like disobeying my parents, even if they do know nothing of it."

"Coward."

"I'm not."

"I think you are."

Thranduil breathed out sharply, and sat with painful force upon the hard ground. Crossing his legs underneath him, he tilted his head back and gestured impatiently at his mouth. "If it will keep you from calling me that, pull the tooth out. Do it."

"I was jesting," Linwë said quietly. "You are not a coward, really. I don't want to."

"Well, I do." The younger Elfling nodded in determination, to reassure himself as much as the other boy, and gestured again. "Do it now. Swiftly."

Releasing a long sigh, Linwë knelt at Thranduil's side, fixing his gaze upon the loose tooth. He stared at it in contemplative silence for a moment, before leaning down and gripping it tightly. His other hand he placed upon his friend's forehead, ready to pull and push respectively. His hazel eyes met wide blue pools. _One_. Both sets of eyes closed, but his were the only ones to open again. _Two_. He drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. _Three_.

"Linwë!"

He did not know where to look first. Though Thranduil had not cried out as the tooth was forcibly removed, he was huddled over his knees with shaking shoulders, a blinding hint at the tears which must have stained his cheeks. A pearly white gem lay in Linwë's hand; bubbles of red liquid were dotted upon his fingers. He clenched his fist and threw it behind his back, but it was too late. His brother was already striding in from the mouth of the cave, handsome face darkened by raw suspicion.

"What have you done?" Veryatur demanded. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing." Linwë tried to brighten his voice, but the smile laced in it sounded too false. "I feel insulted. You always think I have done something wrong."

"Most times you have," the older Elf retorted grimly. "Now, hold out your hand."

The auburn haired child sat in stubborn silence, un-moving until a look from his sibling spurred him into motion. He obeyed the order, though not with any small amount of reluctance. As his fingers slowly opened, Veryatur hissed in unconcealed anger. He moved to Thranduil's side, and gently but firmly forced the Elfling to look up. Green eyes narrowed to mere slits as they fell upon a bloody mouth and chin, rivers of silver tears dampening pale skin. Behind him, Linwë had risen and was shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"What did I say to you?" Veryatur snapped, using the edge of a sleeve to wipe at some of the crimson stains. "Go to the pool for water, return immediately. Why do you find it so impossible to obey instructions?"

"I was just-

"You were causing trouble as you always do." The fair Elf paused in his ministrations, glancing over his shoulder at the boy. "Leaving Lindon was supposed to be the start of something new for us. No more reasons for you to do wrong. Perhaps we would have been as well staying."

"I am-

"Linwë. Do not apologise." Veryatur turned his back once more upon his brother, ending the conversation with that one movement. "Go back to Laire and prepare to sleep. If you are not on your bedroll by the time I return, you will be a very sorry Elfling. Now go."

Without hesitation in light of the threat, Linwë did. Thranduil tried to catch his eye as he fled the cave, but their gazes did not even brush. Blinking to rid himself of his own pain conceived tears, he looked at Veryatur. The older immortal was silent as he worked, continuing his task of removing his patient's blood with the sleeve of his tunic, dabbing at the skin with a care which suggested he knew much of childish injuries.

"Open your mouth." He examined the gap left by the lost tooth, gently probing, and nodded grimly. "You will survive. It was pulled out before it's time, which accounts for the blood and pain, but perhaps that will keep you from allowing anything quite so foolish in the future. It should not have happened. Both you and Linwë should have known better."

"Why were you so angry? Why did you snap at him?" Thranduil questioned softly. "He told me that you did it once. You pulled out one of his teeth, so how can you justify your temper tonight?"

The dark haired Elf stiffened. Slender fingers moved down to rub absently at the stains on his tunic, and his head shook slowly. "That was…a while ago. A few years back. And believe me, when our father discovered what I had done to him, I did not sit comfortably for some time."

_Your father._ That was the first Thranduil had heard of any other family. He wanted to press for details whilst his friend was not present, but instinct held the questions back. He chose a different path to walk down. "You are Linwë's brother. You may be his guardian and his elder, but I do not think that gives you the right to punish him. Do you see it as your place?"

"All children need discipline in their lives. Think you that I enjoy being the one to mete it out? Linwë was not always so…incorrigible. Just since our parents…" Veryatur rose so sharply that Thranduil flinched, and turned to face the cave mouth. "Someone has to take charge. Laire will not, in that respect, so I must. This is the way it has to be. You would do well not to speak of things you have no understanding of."

The Elfling regarded his companion's strong back in silence, and shrugged after a moment of contemplation. "Well, I am sorry for this. And I think Linwë is too. He did not mean to anger you."

"I do not believe that for a second," Veryatur replied, with a hidden smile bordering on sadness. He erased it, and turned to Thranduil once more. One hand came out from his tunic pocket, the tooth gleaming white upon it. "Take this. It belongs to you. I will not mention this to your mother and father, although they _should _be told. My little brother needs to be dealt with now."

"Don't… Don't be hard on him. Please," Thranduil whispered. "It was my fault, not his. He called me a coward for not letting him do it, so to prove that I am not, I told him to pull the tooth out. He didn't want to. I made him."

Veryatur folded his arms over his chest, and a long sigh made his shoulders rise and fall in succession. "Tell me, if Linwë named you coward for refusing to leap into a fiery chasm, would you do it then?" He smiled as the blond head shook quickly. "I did not think so. Now, go. Go back to your parents."

Thranduil nodded slowly, walking past the older Elf to the cave mouth with his eyes cast towards the stony ground. As he passed through the camp he tried to find Linwë to exchange a silent glance with, but his friend was already curled up underneath a blanket. At least Veryatur would be pleased. Oropher and Felith were a short way apart setting up their own bedrolls, and he settled himself upon a rock to watch them. In his fist was clenched the tooth. It was cool against his skin, but suddenly he wished it was back in his mouth. He touched the gap with the tip of his tongue and immediately winced. It was yet sensitive.

"Ion-nín…"

He looked up to see his mother's outstretched hand, and jumped down from his perch to answer her summons. She pulled him into her lap, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist as she used the other to undo the braid which hung down his back. The fingers were soft, gentle, yet they moved with experienced deftness. He sighed softly. Felith's touch was preferable to any other. His father could be too rough with his hair.

"What took you?" Oropher questioned. "We began to worry that you had fallen into the pool."

Thranduil shook his head just once before Felith touched it to still him. "No. I did not," he replied in a mutter. "My… My tooth came out."

"With help?" his mother asked quietly.

"It just came out." There. He had not spoken the whole truth or a lie. "Would you like to see it?"

As her son held out his hand, Felith turned him slightly so that she had a better view. He pulled his lips back, and she gave a tender smile at the gap which would soon be filled by an adult's tooth. "I am sure that will make the Carchedhil very happy. Let us hope he flies overhead tonight."

"He only comes to Elflings who are sound asleep, though," Oropher said meaningfully. "Time for bed, little one. It has been a long day."

As he set about changing into a warm night shirt, Thranduil's gaze travelled across the camp to where his friend's family had their blankets. Laire was nowhere to be seen, but Veryatur stood to one side, watching his sleeping brother in thoughtful silence. Or, perhaps not sleeping. Under the warm coverlets, Linwë's shoulders shook, a sure indication that tears would guide him onto the path of slumber this night.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**I'm on time with the chapter this week, and there's some new characters to get to know also, so I hope it's to everyone's liking. I love reading your reviews and thoughts on how the story is going, so thank you very much to everyone who leaves feedback. It's all very much appreciated. The next chapter will be up around the same time next week, so I'll see you then!**

**Misto**

**x-x**


	6. Pain & Loss

**6**

Vehiron and Saeldur's journey had begun the night before their family's. They left Lindon to arrange horses for the younger children who had been forced to ride with parents or older siblings through the passes of the Ered Luin, along with any other provisions which the mountains had forbidden from being taken. Their travels from the kingdom of Gil-galad had so far been free of trouble or hindrance, although the return yet lay before them. For the time being, they had a room in an inn at Mithlond, as far away from the Sea, treacherous to so many Elven hearts, as they could manage.

It was modest, paid for with only a few coins. Two beds lay against the wall, opposite which was a ceramic washstand and a mahogany wardrobe for any garments – they made no use of the latter; their belongings were not enough – and a four paned window offering views across the city of Mithlond, views away from the Sea. They would take no chances with something as perilous as the dormant longing for Valinor.

From his place watching the road in front of the inn, Vehiron turned to look at his son, lying upon one of the beds. Moonlight from high above touched their heads, staining the dark strands of their hair silver. "Do you sleep, penneth?" he asked quietly. It was not awfully late, but they had travelled hard.

Saeldur rolled onto his side, giving the older Elf a faint smile. "No. I have tried, but sleep is reluctant to come this night. Perhaps it is this strange city. A different bed."

"Perhaps," Vehiron concurred in just a murmur. "Would you like to sit in the common room for a time? I believe there is a minstrel singing. That might lull you into slumber."

"I would not enjoy myself."

"No?"

"No." A weary sigh left Saeldur's lips, and he pushed himself into a sitting position. His green gaze strayed outside the window, to Ithil shining in a crescent above them. "These Elves of Mithlond, the Falmari… They are strange. I do not doubt their kindness, but their way of living is a foreign concept to me. Living by the sea, even on it. That goes against all that we know to avoid."

Vehiron nodded slowly at the words. "Yes. Yes, that I would agree with. But, do you not think it is interesting to gain a brief experience of a culture so different to our own?" All he received as answer was a raised eyebrow, silently cynical. "Maybe not, then."

"I do not mean to be miserable," Saeldur said softly. "I should have brought a book to occupy my mind."

"There are books in the common room," Vehiron pressed.

The younger Elf gave a distasteful shake of his head as though standing even such a short amount of time in the company of the Falmari would damn him to the call of the Sea. Had the inn been in a city of other Elves, he might have frequented the common room and felt comfortable there. Unlike human establishments, theirs were free of drunken brawls, smoky atmospheres and shouting. Immortals gathered to drink wine and listen to tasteful music or stories, engage in deep conversation or sit alone in a corner with a well thumbed book. There were no large innkeepers or serving girls in indecent garb, just friendly owners of the large building who made no-one work for them.

As his son lay down again on the bed, Vehiron's eyes flickered towards the ceiling as though that was the object of his exasperation, and turned back to the window. Outside, the street was close to empty. Moonlight filtered through the gently meandering clouds, illuminating otherwise darkened corners, revealing their hidden secrets. One held a young couple, entwined in each other's arms as they shared tender kisses and words of love known only to them. The Elf watching them smiled. Memories came flooding back of the days when he and his lost wife had been courting, when pain did not exist, when all they knew was happiness. It seemed so very long ago. He shook the recollections away almost violently, and let his gaze move on. Another corner held a jet black cat toying with what would almost certainly become her next meal. Vehiron's sharp eyes caught what mortal orbs could not, the unfortunate mouse running a short way before being dragged back with one lazy movement, one flick of sharp claws, and then the game would begin all over again. He watched, but he took no pleasure from the torture.

The moon had barely moved when percussive hoof beats reached his ears. He looked up sharply – his peripheral vision caught the courting Elves slip out of their hiding place – to see a group of close to twenty horses approaching. His own spot at the window became vacated, and he touched one hand to Saeldur's turned shoulder. He hoped his son had not found sleep only to be woken so soon. The younger Elf rose, weariness not touching the grace of his movements, and ran both hands through his hair in a half hearted attempt at tidying it as he followed his father from the room and down a narrow staircase which led to the common room below. He smelt sea salt on the garb of some Falmari Elves close by, a distasteful assault on his senses. Entering into the air outside was not much better. Though some way from the Sea, its odours reached him on the breeze.

Eighteen horses came to a halt in the wide street, their multitude of differently coloured coats appearing dusty and drab against the unmarred architecture of the city of Mithlond, pearlescent in the moon's early light. Oropher alone dismounted, and came forth to pull first his brother into a brief embrace of greeting, then his nephew. Just behind him, still mounted with Felith, Saeldur could see Thranduil surreptitiously waving at him. His smile widened only for a second ere it disappeared so that he could listen to the conversation around him.

"You arrived in good time. Not as late as I expected," Vehiron was commenting. "The mountains treated you well, then?"

"It would seem that all of our hopes have so far been fulfilled. We had few hindrances. One injury amongst the pack horses and a few hours lost, but all is now well," Oropher replied. "And yourselves? You both reached Mithlond unscathed?"

"Of course. Although," Vehiron confided, leaning closer to his brother and lowering his voice, "one amongst us spent over half of the journey prophesising that two Elves on their own would make perfect prey in the mountains. I will name no names."

The older sibling glanced at his nephew, studiously examining one fingernail, and nodded his understanding. "To spare yourself the embarrassment, I assume."

"Well, indeed," Vehiron smiled. "Have you decided on any course for this night? We have horses for the children and everything else that you requested, so nothing would keep you from leaving immediately. I have arranged no rooms, but it can be done."

Ithil was yet low, the sky streaked with pale paints of twilight. Oropher regarded it in contemplative quiescence. "No. No, it is early. We will ride on into Eriador and seek rest later in the night. I hope to make up the hours lost in the Ered Luin."

"Are the children able enough to go so far?" Saeldur asked.

"I do not expect them to spend as much time upon their horses as the adults. If they wish to sleep, they can ride with a parent or sibling," Oropher replied. He paused, and glanced over his shoulder at his wife and son. "One Elfling may be upset that he cannot see his uncle and cousin for longer, but that aside there will be no problems. The horses are available now?"

As Vehiron led his brother to the stables behind the inn, Saeldur moved through the group of travellers, dismounting to stretch their legs after hours on horseback, to his aunt and cousin. The lady brushed his cheek with her lips and murmured a "Hello, darling", although Thranduil's greeting was not quite as elegant. He threw both arms around the older Elf's waist, sending him backwards a few steps with the force of his embrace. Already he was busy talking at high velocity, regaling his relative with what must have been every event, large or small, since leaving Lindon. His new friend, sleeping beneath the stars, the horse's injured hoof, his lost tooth which made him a little bit older, didn't it? Saeldur just nodded at the barrage of words and questions. That seemed an easier task than forming any verbal replies.

When the child paused for breath, he leaped in with a question of his own. "What think you of Mithlond? Do you like what you have seen of it?"

"Yes, the statues of sea birds and animals especially. We saw a fountain made of large stone fish – Nana said they are called dolphins," Thranduil recounted, enthusiasm colouring his voice. Then he paused, and his eyes narrowed in thought. "This place is different to Lindon, though. Strange smells. Sounds I have not heard before. And salt is carried in the air. I can feel it on my clothes and in my hair. I do not think I could become accustomed to such a place."

"I am glad to hear someone is in agreement with me," Saeldur smiled. "And you, Aunt Felith? I suppose you are of like mind with my father. You think this is a cultural experience not to be wasted."

The lady's look was distant, and she blinked her eyes back into focus at the sound of her name. "Hmm? Oh, no. No, my opinions are not quite as similar. I believe that the Sea is a beautiful thing to look upon, but what it can awake in us is treacherous. It calls us home, to Valinor, and taking that path can be devastating for those left behind."

"Does it call all Elves?" Thranduil asked uncomfortably.

"Eventually. Perhaps one of us could go to the shore and walk away with the longing still asleep, or perhaps our heart would be captured," Felith answered. "If it was the latter, we would sail to the white shores. One can never know when their time will be. But when it does arrive, it cannot be avoided." Silence greeted her words, and she looked slightly startled at that dead quiescence. More than just two pairs of eyes were upon her. She flushed, and turned her attention onto her enraptured son. "Why not introduce Saeldur to Linwë? I am sure they would like to meet."

The Sinda youth suppressed a groan as one small hand caught hold of his and dragged him across the paved street. Two Elflings. He did not think he could endure a double act. The forced journey led him to an auburn haired boy a few years older than his cousin, leaning almost insolently against the wall of the inn. Green eyes a shade darker than his own light ones flicked carelessly over him, and the bright lips curved for little more than a second. He found himself disliking the child almost immediately.

"If your brother and sister see you lolling about so they will not be happy," Thranduil said reprovingly.

"Don't fuss. Veryatur isn't even looking this way, and Laire seems to have wandered away somewhere," Linwë shrugged. "Is this Saeldur? I have heard much about you. It was you who fought Cevenias' son, was it not?"

Saeldur was interested to see that his cousin's gaze had suddenly shifted downwards. "How many have you told?" he asked sharply. "It was nothing to be proud of."

"He said you were brave," Linwë defended before his friend could reply. "And the fight was one event which set in motion your uncle's decision to leave Lindon. _I _would be proud of myself."

"What a moralistic boy you are, then." The only response was a cheerful grin. Saeldur's eyes narrowed at the impertinence and lack of respect for an elder. _Were he my brother, he would have received a slap by now. Valar, I have never met such a distasteful child._

The dislike emanating from the dark haired Sinda was tangible, like wisps of smoke from a smouldering fire. Thranduil's gaze travelled from his cousin to his friend and back again, and he wondered at that smile of Linwë's which had not yet slipped nor faltered. An enigma. That was the word for the other boy. He was sure that had Saeldur's hard stare been fixed upon him, he would have wilted as a flower does in the heat. But Linwë…he was so different. So strange.

Hooves upon the street knifed through the animosity still steadily flowing, and the immortals turned to see two small horses for the older children, Soron and Edhilwen, and ponies for the others. Most approached the animals with enthusiasm in their steps, although timid Castien needed a gentle push from his father before he even moved. One of the ponies led by Oropher, a palomino mare, nudged Thranduil as he came to a halt next to her, and a delighted smile flashed across his face at the contact.

"I like this one," he said earnestly. "Do you think she could be mine if nobody else wants her, Ada?"

"I should imagine so," Oropher replied. He handed the reins to his son, a smile upon his own fair face. "The others have claimed their mounts. She is yours, ion-nín."

The Elfling's grin widened, and he led his pony towards Linwë. A stocky animal with a white lightning strike down his nose stood just behind the other boy, ears pointed far forwards. "Your horse has an interesting face," Thranduil noted. "What will you call him?"

"Stripe."

"Stripe?"

"Yes."

Thranduil regarded his friend in thoughtful silence, and shook his head slowly. "I do not think you can name the horse so. It is quite… Well, it is not very Elvish."

"It is not," Linwë concurred, "but why should I do what everyone else will? I am not a sheep who follows. I am myself, and if I want to be different, I will be and no-one can take that away from me. So, my pony is Stripe. What will you call yours? I think you should be different too, and call her Haystack. For her yellow hair."

"Haystack and Stripe," Thranduil sighed. "No, that is stupid. You can be different by yourself."

The older boy opened his mouth to press his own argument, but an arrival at their side made him hesitate. He looked up into a pair of narrowed green eyes, and his usual smile was not present on his face as he met them. "Hello," he said moodily. "What have you come to scold me for this time?"

"It may surprise you to hear that I have not come for any such reason," Veryatur replied. He cast his gaze around the street, and it flickered in concern. "Have you seen Laire? Oropher wants to be moving on, but she is nowhere to be found. Waiting for her means that we will not make up any time."

"Perhaps she has gone to change her clothes," Thranduil suggested. "We are quite dusty. Ladies don't like being dirty, do they?"

Linwë glanced at his friend, and his auburn head shook slowly. "Do you really think she would leave me alone in a strange place just to put on a clean dress? She would worry that I could get into all sorts of trouble. I am sure she is here somewhere, Veryatur. Don't worry."

"Why is it so easy for you to say that? Don't worry. How can I not?" Veryatur snapped back. "After everything that has happened to us, I would expect you to feel what I do at a moment such as this. But no, you brush aside the possibilities as though they do not exist, as though we have not lived them once already. Sometimes I wonder if you even care."

Horror flashed across Linwë's face, and he recoiled as though facing a physical blow rather than the harsh verbal one already dealt to him. "I did not know that you thought that," he whispered. Small hands tightened around Stripe's reins, and he bowed his head towards the ground. "I care. Of course I do."

"Valar, I did not mean to say… I am sorry." Veryatur leaned down to level his eyes with his brother's, and he touched the child's shoulder, a brief gesture. "Look at me. I am sorry. I know you care, I just let my anger control me and I should not have allowed that. Pay no heed to me, or my words. They mean nothing."

The very moment that sharp words began to fly, Thranduil had slipped away from the altercation to find his own family. It was a complex relationship that Linwë shared with his siblings, and the young Elf could not even try to understand it. Something had happened to them. They had known pain and lost loved ones, and the web weaved by such experiences was a tangled one indeed. Heartache and sorrow caught them every day like a predator, trapping them in the intricate tunnels of a labyrinth they had no escape from. He could not begin to comprehend how it must feel to be so lost, to have a family but to be so alone, to have secrets locked in your head, memories, living nightmares that never went away. The immensity of this concept made him suddenly want to cry for his friend.

"Ada?" As he came to his father's side, Thranduil raised a hand to his eyes and swept away the tears that had gathered there since burying himself in thoughts too deep for his young mind. "Laire is not here, and Veryatur is worried for her. Linwë is becoming so too, I think. We will not leave without her?"

"Why would you ask that?" Oropher questioned, concern lacing his voice. "No, of course not. I would never go with one of our number left alone in this strange city, but likewise, she should not have gone away from the street without a companion. She does not know this place. The streets are different to Lindon, and she may lose her way."

"We should look for her," Thranduil said quietly.

The dark haired Sinda watched the barely concealed emotion on his son's face, and knelt down in the street to gaze into sad blue eyes. "It pleases me to see you so concerned for another's wellbeing, but I do not think you should be distressed. Laire will return soon enough, and then we can be on our way. Fear not, penneth. All will be well."

"But, Linwë said she would not leave him alone so something must be wrong. She might be hurt or so lost we cannot find her again, and that would devastate Linwë and Veryatur. They cannot lose her, Ada," Thranduil pressed, as vehemently as he dared. "I don't know the story because I have no right to, but their family has suffered already. I think their mother and father are dead, and… and it's not fair. It's not fair, Ada."

"Has Linwë not told you anything?" Oropher asked softly.

The Elfling's golden head shook slowly, and the tears he had previously brushed away resurfaced and spilled with the movement. "No. I tell him not to, but I have guessed some of his secret without hearing it. They died, and now he is raised by his brother and sister which is why Veryatur is strict with him. What if something has happened to Laire?"

Compassion made the tears flow hard and fast, and Oropher felt his heart constrict at the grief worn so openly by his only child. He pulled Thranduil against his chest, enveloping him with strong arms and hoping that the embrace would offer some comfort. His eyes sought Linwë, leaning disconsolately against Stripe's side; then Veryatur still searching helplessly up and down the street. Felith stood a short way off, watching the very same thing. He met her azure gaze with his own, and silent messages passed between them as Ithil rose higher and higher into the darkening sky.

He did not know how much time had passed when a commotion arose at the far end of the street. Sharp inhalations of breath, moans of despair, whispers which prophesied that which he dreaded to hear. Laire was back, but the worst had happened. Oropher's arms were still wrapped around Thranduil, and his grip tightened momentarily, for his own comfort as much as his son's, before he forced himself to let go and rise. He walked towards the ado, but he did not see the slabs of stone moving beneath his feet. All he saw was sorrow, coming closer, closer. There was a curse from Veryatur as the younger Elf ran past to reach his sister, confused cries from an Elfling. Linwë. He shook his head slowly, silently screaming his own frustration that this had happened.

Laire's divided riding skirts were wet, soaked to above her knees with a liquid which made her movements unnaturally slow and heavy. Hair the colour of chestnut was no longer immaculate, but instead spread across her cheeks and shoulders as though blown by a furious gale. She was white, like snow, but in her eyes was a light not seen in any others, a shine too incandescent to be natural. Her venture had taken her too far away, and the Sea had laid claim to her heart. Veryatur's hands upon her shoulders shook her, but she did not even seem to see that he was there. Or perhaps she did, and her blindness was conceived by the knowledge that there was no hope, that she would never arrive in Greenwood.

"What has happened? Why are you wet?" Linwë whispered. He suddenly looked and sounded the child he really was. "Laire, talk to me. Please. Please! Tell me what is wrong. Laire!"

As though physically pulled, the maiden started out of whatever reverie she was caught in, and let her eyes travel downwards to rest upon her young brother. "I have been called," she breathed. "I am not for Arda any more. The Sea is waiting for me. _Home _is waiting for me."

"Your place is here with us. Fight this, do not give in to the longing. Just force it down and…" Veryatur's head sank into shaking hands, a helpless gesture in light of the revelation. He knew that the pleas were useless. "Oh Valar, why? Why did you go? Why!"

"Do not be angry with me. I hate seeing you angry," Laire murmured. "How much pain have we known over the last years, brother? How often has one of us come close to death, and how often should we have taken a ship to save ourselves? We have fought for too long, even little Linwë. I am tired of our battles. Perhaps in the Blessed Realm I can find the salvation I need. Will you not be happy for me?"

Veryatur looked as though he wanted to scream and never draw breath. Words seemed to have fled him, rational thought did not exist. "No!" The word resounded in the street, hitting walls and bouncing off them to treacherously come back and attack him. "You are my sister! What makes you think I can let you go and leave me here alone? I need you, Laire. You are the only pillar I have, and without you, I will crumble. How can I protect Linwë? I am just one Elf. I cannot… Valar, I cannot do this!"

"Then come with me."

Quiet breaths came from the gathered Elves, and Linwë, who had thus far been watching softly, forced his way between Laire and Veryatur, as though his small body in their path would stop either from taking a ship. "You can't do that. You can't…" His voice was pitiful, tears stained it. "Don't leave me by myself. What would I do? How could I look after myself?"

"You would come," Laire answered gently. "All three of us would go. We could find happiness together. What do you think of that?"

"We were going to find happiness in Greenwood. That is where I want to be," Linwë whispered. Silver drops of sorrow rained from his eyes, and he brushed angrily at them with the back of one trembling hand. "I don't want to lose you, but I don't want to go to Valinor. It's not… I can't…"

The maiden's lips turned upwards in a sad smile, and she moved her eyes onto Veryatur, searching his own green pools for an answer. "And you? What would you say? You have a choice to make. I am sorry to place such a burden upon your shoulders, but what will it be?"

A short distance from the siblings, Oropher shook his head and rested it in one hand, watching the scene from beneath dark lashes. He could feel Felith gripping his arm, almost painful in its tightness; he could sense the fear emanating from Thranduil that Linwë would not be leaving Mithlond with them; he could hear his own heart pounding hard against his chest, harder and harder as each second passed. And there was something else too, far below the surface of his being. Guilt – guilt that he had brought the travellers to this city so close to the ocean, responsibility for the choice that Veryatur now faced. Did he take his unwilling brother to Valinor to be with their sister, or did he forsake Laire and let her face the journey alone? Oropher's eyes flicked shut, and the breath of helpless despair which left his lips was unstoppable. The sudden desire to turn back time just one hour was close to overwhelming.

"What will you do?" Laire pressed, her voice just a gentle hum. "Tell me. What is your answer to be?"

Veryatur stared at her, still silent, and his gaze moved down to Linwë. Then back again to her pale face. He shook his head. "No. I cannot. You have been called, but it is not our time to leave these shores. I have to think of Linwë, and I know that he would find no happiness in Valinor. I cannot say that I would either. We stay, Laire. We stay."

Oropher turned away from the tableau, directing his gaze to the dark sky overhead. Elves were dispersing around him; it was over. The broken family were sharing a tight embrace behind him, whispering to each other words not meant for anyone else. He watched their shadow on the street floor, and suddenly felt forsaken, alone with a decision of his own to make. Veryatur would want to stay until Laire left. He understood that, but he could not force his companions to remain in a city that had claimed one Sindarin heart. He knew that hey were already uncomfortable with the ocean so close, and protests aplenty would arise, whatever choice he made.

"I know it is difficult, but only you can pass judgement." Felith's voice at his side made him start, though it was as soft as a summer's breeze. "They look to you as their leader. They will want an answer, just as Laire did. You must give it to them."

"You read my mind, but I am at a loss. Veryatur and Linwë are losing their sister. I cannot drag them away so soon," Oropher sighed. "Were that the only factor, I would stay, but there are others to think of."

"How long have we been here? No more than an hour, and already we have lost one of our number. The risks are surely too great," Felith pressed gently. "Even if we left at first light, there is still the night to survive. I feel for Linwë and his brother. I do. But, we need to leave."

The dark haired Elf nodded, though it was laced with reluctance. "Yes. We will." He looked away from his wife, fixing his gaze upon nothing in particular and just staring at it. There was nothing more to say. He felt rather than saw her move from his side, and knew she was quietly directing the other travellers to mount their horses. He heard his son saying goodbye to Vehiron and Saeldur, but he did not turn to watch as he otherwise would have done. Thoughts and regrets deep enough to drown in consumed him, replicas of all that had already passed through his mind that night. They should never have come here. They should never have strayed so close to the ocean. _He _should have stopped such a thing from happening.

But it was done now. It was done, and nothing would change that. Hidden in the folds of his cloak he clenched his fists, digging his nails ruthlessly into the palms of his hands and tearing at his skin. It was a strangely pleasurable feeling in light of learning that Laire would sail to the Undying Lands and never return to her family, that two young Elves already devastated by lost lives were suffering another blow just a few short years after the first. He wanted to scream at the Valar for this cruelty. He wanted to break something. Anything. With a feral hiss he spun around…and immediately stopped.

"Veryatur."

The auburn haired Elf merely looked at him, eyes free of tears yet still tainted with too many pains to comprehend. No expression was upon his face. It was a blank canvas. "Oropher," he acknowledged quietly. "You are preparing to leave."

Even had he wanted to, Oropher knew there was no way he could defend his actions. Not to this shattered creature before him. "Yes, we are moving on from Mithlond. I made that decision alone." _It is the right one. It is. _"I cannot begin to imagine the feelings you suffer, nor Linwë, but staying here longer than we have to is a risk I am loath to take. What has happened to Laire is…awful, and I can only tell you how sorry I am that this has happened. I am sorry, penneth. Truly, though that will not ease your pain. I just want you to know that-

"We are coming with you," Veryatur broke in. "Linwë and I are riding from Mithlond this night. That decision has also been made."

"But, your sister… I thought that you would want to stay with her for as long as you could," Oropher said, surprise colouring his voice.

There was more he wanted to say, but a curt nod held the words back. "Yes. However, I am well accustomed to sacrificing what I desire for my brother. I have lost Laire, I will not lose him," Veryatur replied coolly. "Linwë must be my priority, and I must not let my wants overshadow the protection he needs from me. I hope you understand."

"Of course, if that is what you… What of Laire?"

"A Falmari woman has already offered to care for her until her ship…leaves." The effort it took the younger Elf to say that one word seemed as great as climbing a mountain. "That has been agreed by us all. Linwë and I _will _ride with you. Unless you have any objections to that."

It was not a question that needed any answer, but Oropher shook his head nonetheless and watched as Veryatur turned and walked away to his horse with a straight back, his posture emanating a strength which surely could not be mirrored in his feelings. He had expected more than just appraising looks and chilly words – indeed, he had anticipated even being struck at by the hurting Elf – but a soft sigh of relief left his lips that a further obstacle had not been placed in his path. _But the Valar know I would deserve that for leading them here. _The thought entered his mind unbidden and unwelcome, and he forced it away immediately. Though thinking it was an easier task than following it through, blaming himself would not change anything nor make it better.

He found his own horse and wrapped the reins around his wrist, preparing to mount when Vehiron appeared at his side. The looks they exchanged were not happy ones. "I do not want you and Saeldur to stay here any longer than is necessary," he said quietly. "Were it not for the mountains I would have you go now. As it is, morning's first light must see you well on your way."

"Rest assured of that," Vehiron murmured. "Take care of yourself. And the others."

Oropher nodded, but his heart was not in the gesture. With a weary sigh he mounted his dark coloured horse, and ran his gaze over his fellow companions. All were present and accounted for, though Veryatur and Linwë sat some way apart from the main group. They were even apart from each other, he noted with a pang of sorrow. The elder was silent, staring stoically ahead at the road which would lead them from Mithlond; the younger still wept, his quiet cries audible to all in the otherwise silent night. Oropher wondered at that, wondered why no-one had approached the Elfling with comfort. As though reading his mind, Felith's golden head shook sadly.

"He desires solitude, and I cannot fault him for that," she murmured. "He pushed us all away. Even Thranduil."

The dark haired Sinda glanced at his son, and let one hand brush against the child's smooth cheek. It was still damp. "Let him control his emotions and grief alone, if that is what he wants from you. We all cope in different ways. This is his. He will still be your friend when morning arrives, though you may not think so now. Give him time, little one."

A miserable sniff was the only reply from the morose and clearly unconvinced child, that and another large tear sliding across his pale skin like a raindrop slipping off ice. Oropher sighed again – somewhere far away in the deep recesses of his mind he wondered without much conviction at how often that had happened in so short a time – and muttered a soft word of command to his horse. The animals began their trek back up the street, leaving behind the perilous ocean, Vehiron, Saeldur, Laire; and reflected in their slow and quiet gait was the mood of the travelling party. It would be some long days before cheer was found by any, Elf or beast.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The very moment they crossed the boundaries which separated the pastoral and green lands of eastern Eriador from the sad places they had left behind, the Sindar Elves from Lindon came to a much anticipated and needed halt. Less than a few words were exchanged as they dismounted and set up a modest camp on a stretch of grassland, and those were spoken only quietly and amongst families when necessity arose. Morning had not yet arrived, although the sky was starting to lighten a few shades. They would rest through the coming day and night and then continue their journey across the large region with the coming of the next sunrise. It would take a few weeks even on horseback to pass out of Eriador, but evil did not trouble the land, so no fear existed of their passage being obstructed – at least not for some time yet.

Bedrolls and blankets were being arranged by most, but Thranduil had left his parents with theirs to slip away and find the one person he wanted to see. Though Linwë's tears had stopped falling during the night, no words had come from him, nothing to acknowledge anyone or anything, no reactions at all. It was as though he was an empty shell, and the materials which made up his very being were left behind in Mithlond. He was like a wraith, a shadow of what he once had been; it was saddening to see how he had changed in such a short amount of time. But then, it was to be expected too.

The blond Elfling found his friend as far away from the Elven camp as it was possible to be without stepping back over the boundaries of Eriador. A thought entered his mind, questioning if he was still allowed to use that word – _friend _– in light of all that had happened the previous evening, but he shied away from it as though it were poison, banishing it back to where it had sprung from, and fixed his attention upon Linwë. The auburn haired child was lying on the grass with only a cloak for cushioning, and nothing to blanket him. His bedroll was untouched, thrown carelessly onto the ground; his coverlets were nowhere to be seen. At least two women had tried already to set up a bed for him, but blank stares and hard eyes had made them retreat ere they snap his already fragile temper.

"That does not look comfortable," Thranduil offered hesitantly. "I am not very skilled at it, but perhaps I could make a bed for you. It would give you better sleep."

Linwë's eyes, fixed upon the still visible Ithil, flickered only briefly as the voice penetrated whatever dark thoughts were in his mind. He shrugged carelessly. "Do it. Don't do it. Don't care."

"Where are your blankets?"

"Don't know."

Thranduil nodded slowly, and set about unfastening the twine which stopped the bedroll from springing apart. "Well, we can find them or you can have one of mine. Where is Veryatur?"

"Don't care," Linwë muttered.

"All right. Has Stripe had anything to eat?"

"Don't remember."

The words stilled Thranduil's fingers, and he looked up at his friend, though he received no response. He had expected as much. "I don't suppose it matters, there is plenty of grass for Stripe. Have _you _eaten? You will not sleep on an empty stomach."

"Not tired."

"Fine. Look, I know how you must be feeling, but I am only trying to help you. You will not accept it from anyone else, so I thought that maybe you would let a friend near," the younger Elfling said sharply. "Maybe you are not tired, but after last night you need rest. You need to eat, and you need to keep your mind away from Laire."

"That is easy for you to say," Linwë snapped. "Just be quiet. I don't want to hear your voice, I don't even want you close to me. I am sorry if you believe we are friends, but I only said that because I was indebted to you. None of it matters now. And don't think for one minute that you know how I am feeling. You can never know."

Thranduil's head had already snapped up halfway through the furious tirade, and his eyes glittered angrily as the words rained down on him like arrows from an enemy camp. One part of his mind fought to calmly explain that the older boy was hurting, that his pain was the only reason behind his cruelty. The other side was screaming at the unfairness of this. The other side _wanted_ to scream out loud. With all the willpower he owned, though, he continued to untie the bedroll, keeping his gaze fixed evenly on the task at hand. He would not rise to the bait. Two deep breaths and the emotions subsided slightly, pushed back down where they would lie dormant for just a short time before arising once more.

"Are you even listening to me?" Linwë sneered. "I do not want your help, and I do not want you."

"Shut up! You have only spoken some truth. No, perhaps I do not understand how you are suffering. I will admit that myself if it will make you happy. But I know that you are lying about the rest of it, about us not being friends," Thranduil said hotly. "We have only known each other a short while, but you have a good heart in spite of your faults. You would not say that to me and mean it. You know it would hurt me, and you would not want that."

Linwë raised one eyebrow, an action which complimented the cruel sneer he still wore, and rose from his place on the green floor. He stared at the other Elfling through uncharacteristically hard eyes for a moment, before bringing one booted foot back and kicking the half untied bedroll away. It flew a short distance and landed with an anticlimactic _flump _amongst the grass, drawing the attention of some nearby Elves who stopped what they were doing to leap into action should the impending altercation get out of hand. Beinian and Megildur moved away from their already finished sleeping places, no doubt to seek out the guardians of the boys involved and alert them to the situation.

Fuelled by that violence, Thranduil got to his feet in the blink of an eye, though he realised a second too late that he was a head shorter than Linwë. Commendably, he met the green eyes with his own blue pools, unafraid in their line of fire. "That was not very convincing," he whispered. "You can kick as much as you want, but I know you do not mean it. We _are _friends. It will take much more to make me believe otherwise."

"What will it take? This?" Linwë's hand shot out, and he used it to push against the smaller Elf's shoulder. All he received was a flash of shock, though it seemed enough to spur him on. He pushed slightly harder. "This? This?"

The third assault sent Thranduil back a few steps, and he leaped forwards with a feral hiss of anger that he should be treated with such contempt after only wanting to help. He tried to stop himself from taking part, to remind himself that Laire was going to Valinor and that should excuse Linwë's behaviour, but his temper got the better of him and he retaliated with a fierce shove of his own. From the corners of his flashing eyes he saw Elves – Rochendil, Tegalad and Nendir – move forwards to hold both him and the other boy apart, but Linwë pushed him again before they could act, and that final violence sent him to the ground. Tears of shock more than anything else glittered in his eyes, and all he could do was gaze upwards at the one child he thought he could name friend, and silently ask why they had come to this.

Movement caught his attention, and he turned his eyes away to see Oropher and Felith approaching. Before they could reach his side and help him up, Thranduil got to his feet and made a vain attempt at arranging his clothes and brushing away the tears, though his brave front could not quite hide the dismay he felt inside. It washed across his face like waves hitting the beach, and behind the deep pools of his eyes was utter betrayal. Linwë was restrained by Rochendil's warrior grip, silent now and still, but he could not bring himself to look in that direction. He just stared at the ground, watching the emerald blades of grass wave softly in the gentle breeze which caressed their stretch of land.

"Are either of you hurt?" Oropher asked quietly. One golden head shook, then an auburn one, and he pinned both boys with a cold glare. "Good, we must waste no time healing and can instead get to the bottom of this drama. I know that certain events have made tempers rise and emotions soar, but that is no excuse for this sort of behaviour. Thranduil, you have certainly not been raised to conduct yourself so, and I am sure the same can be applied to you, Linwë. This is inexcusable. You are friends. What possessed you to-?

"We are not," Thranduil broke in, his voice just a mutter. "We never have been."

"You would do well to remember that you are addressing an elder, not one of your contemporaries. I had not finished speaking," Oropher berated. His voice was like chipped ice. "Go back to your bedroll. I will see you alone. As for you, Linwë, where has your brother disappeared to? As your guardian, he should be made aware of this."

The child shrugged in his captor's hold, though it was a defeated gesture. "I don't know," he whispered. "Somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn't matter. He would rather be with Laire, so perhaps he will not return."

"Do you believe that?"

The question did not come from any Elves already present. Oropher turned to see Veryatur watching the scene from a short way away, and he released a breath he did not know he held. Nor had he realised that somewhere deep inside him, his thoughts had corresponded with Linwë's. "Rochendil, let the boy go," he said softly. "There will be no further trouble tonight. We should all try to find some well deserved rest now. Any other problems can be resolved in the morning. Or afternoon, whenever we awake."

As spectators returned to their tasks around the campsite and time continued at its normal pace, the captured Elfling slunk away from Rochendil's strong arms, his auburn head bowed low to the ground. Oropher watched him sit cross legged upon the half opened bedroll; watched him silently shake with anger, fear, grief, too many emotions; watched Veryatur stand serenely close by as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He felt his heart go out to Linwë, a little boy not much older than his own, and wished, not for the first time, that he could play with time.

"What are you doing?" He only realised he had voiced his thoughts when a pair of cool green eyes flicked upon him. "Why are you doing it?"

"I fear I do not follow you," Veryatur replied politely. "Forgive me."

Oropher shook his head and began walking away from the main body of Elves, a subtle suggestion that the younger immortal should follow. "Linwë is drowning. The only way for him to find air is by channelling his pain into rage, and that will damage him. He is just a child."

"I know what he-

"And he needs your help. He needs you." Oropher halted, stopping directly before Veryatur to block his onward path. There was a flash of eyes at the obstruction, but nothing else. "Rather than holding out your hand to save your brother, you wallow in a mire of sadness at the loss of your sister. Would she want this? Do you believe that Laire would be proud of you?"

"Laire is… Laire is not here," Veryatur muttered.

The dark haired Sinda let out a soft sigh, and shook his head at the words; a sad gesture. "Linwë is, but you seem to have forgotten that. He is not coping, and nor should he be expected to. Don't neglect him, penneth. Perhaps he can help you through your grief as much as you can help him through his own. Neither of you need to suffer alone, yet you elect solitude."

"I thank you for your wise words, and I will keep them in mind. For now, I am content to continue as I see fit," Veryatur replied, with a cold smile to accompany the equally frosty words. "Nevertheless, my thanks still stand."

That said, he turned on his heel and strode away in the opposite direction, back rigidly straight and head held high. He stopped to arrange Linwë's bedroll and heap it with his own blankets, but the expression on his fair face suggested that he would rather be anywhere but there. Oropher watched him tell the child to get some sleep before going on his way once more, eyes fixed unseeingly on a point extant only to him, and he found himself sighing again. There was nothing more he could say, though, he reflected as he walked back towards his wife and son. He had said all he could say, done all he could possibly do. The rest was up to the hurting brothers.

"Has it been resolved?" Felith asked softly, rising to meet him. "I saw you go away with Veryatur, and I wondered…"

"I cannot know. Perhaps he will see sense, perhaps he will not." Oropher shrugged, and his eyes travelled beyond his wife to their bedrolls. Pale light streaked the sky overhead like an artist's spilt paints, though Ithil had not yet moved on his journey. "We should rest now, but I would see our Elfling ere I seek sleep."

The Elven woman raised one slender hand and pressed it against his chest, holding him still. "Wait. Don't be hard on him. He has been scolded already, and he is very sorry for his part in the fight." Her eyes widened slightly at the cynical expression flashed at her. "It is true."

"I do not doubt he is sorry, but I do not think for a moment that you scolded him. You are awful at it, meleth. That is why I am the disciplinarian and you wipe away the tears," Oropher replied with a soft smile. "Fear not. I only wish to speak with him, if he is still awake. I suppose he is very upset."

"He is hurt, but calm," Felith sighed. "And Linwë?"

It was a question that needed no answer. The dark haired Elf just spread his hands in sad silence, and brushed past his wife with a soft touch upon her shoulder. He heard the long exhalation that left her lips, and echoed it with one of his own as he knelt beside their son's bedroll, in between their own ones. The small lump underneath the thick blankets stiffened at his presence, and he hid a smile as he ran one hand down the child's back. It was as tense as a drawn bowstring. There was a slight movement from beneath the coverlets at the touch, and one cerulean eye, half hidden by strands of golden hair, peeked out at him. He felt a slight satisfaction as the genuine wish for atonement in that blue pool corresponded with Felith's assurances. At least the boy was sorry.

"You do not need to hide," he said quietly. "I am not angry with you, little one. You may come out. I just want to speak with you swiftly. It will take little time, and then you can sleep."

Thranduil pushed the blankets away and sat up, though unconvinced by his father's words, wariness still touched his movements. "I am sorry," he began hesitantly. "It was wrong of me to act as I did. I should not have pushed Linwë back. Is he… Is he hurt?"

"No more than you are," Oropher replied gently. "Now, listen to me a moment. I want you to understand something. I told you last night to leave Linwë alone until he comes back from his grief, and that still holds. It is too soon. I know you miss him and I know you want to help. But you cannot. Not yet."

"That _is _all I wanted to do," Thranduil protested. "Help him. It doesn't matter what I said, or what he did. We are friends."

"Of course you are. I admire your ability to sympathise, but in empathy, you fail. I mean," Oropher explained, as confusion flickered upon his son's face, "that you can feel for Linwë and know sadness for his suffering, but you do not understand it well enough to help him in the way he needs. You must, for your own sake as well as his, stay away. He does not want a friend at the moment. Please understand that."

"I don't," Thranduil said quietly. "I can't, but I will try. That's all I can do, Ada. Try."

Oropher gave a gentle smile at the words, and nodded his approval. "I am glad of that, and I hope you will succeed. Just remember what I have told you, though I do not doubt it hurts to hear. Will you do that too?"

The Elfling nodded half heartedly and lay down once more upon his bedroll, pulling the blankets close to his chest and holding them as though they were precious lifelines. A soft kiss upon his forehead conceived a smile – just a small one – and a muttered "Love you, Ada," escaped his lips as his father tucked the coverlets securely around him. The dark haired Sinda returned the words in a whisper and was gone, leaving Thranduil alone to sink into a much needed slumber that was certain to be tainted with sorrowful dreams of his hurting friend and the pain circulating throughout the Elven camp. He would not be the only immortal to mourn through the visions of sleep that night.

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**I think this chapter is slightly shorter than the others that have so far been posted, but there's no point in me writing more just for the sake of elongation because I know it wouldn't turn out as well. Thank you very much to those who are leaving me reviews; all feedback is very much appreciated, and I will reply to all reviews that I receive. See you next week!**

**Misto**

**x-x**


	7. Shattered Ice

**7**

Days passed by and turned into weeks, and the rising of the moon each night brought a halt to the Elves' journey. Some days they put a great distance between themselves and their last camp; other days they would only manage five leagues or so before stopping. The lands of Eriador had been kind to them. Some were rough and wild, but there was always food to be found, never a lack of water sources or shelter. On occasion they would meet humans, farmers who were mostly willing to help with provisions; in a region empty of large towns, the immortals accepted any offers which came their way.

Now, two weeks on since Laire's fateful decision to forsake Greenwood, their path led them in a south easterly direction, towards the vast and rolling plains of Calenardhon. The southern boundaries of Eriador had yet to pass beneath their feet, but winter was fast approaching and they hoped to be on the final stretch of their journey before it arrived in full force. One mild snow had eclipsed by already, and the clouds overhead suggested that another was on its way.

An icy wind surged through the company, and Oropher glanced back over his shoulder, instinctively, to ensure that his son had not removed any vital layers of clothing. Though to the adult Elves the chilly bite in the air was merely an annoyance, like a fly that did not vanish, the children felt it keenly. Not yet fully immunised against such drastic temperatures, they wore thick clothes and fur lined cloaks to keep out the cold, though the redness of their cheeks was a clear indicator that they knew it still.

Oropher guided his horse around an icy patch on the floor, and a slight frown marred his fair features. The day had been a strange one for himself and Felith. Almost since waking that morning, their only child had as good as ignored them both, responding to any questions in clipped tones or with looks as warm as the weather. He had distanced himself from them during the ride, reining his pony back to travel with Veassen – who he had become friendly with since the episode with Linwë – and making a good point of disregarding all requests that he join them for a short while. Though shocked by his uncharacteristic behaviour, neither parent had done more than return his chilly glares with warning ones of their own. They would not make a scene, not before their companions.

"I fault the weather," Felith had said thoughtfully, earlier that day. "The cold must be a frustration for them."

"Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but it affects only Thranduil's temper. None of the other children are showing any similar insolence," Oropher replied. "Even Linwë has made no unpleasant complaints since we broke camp this morning. Do not make excuses."

Though the smile and mischievous twinkle that had once been customary upon the auburn haired boy's face were still hidden away, he was starting to see through the darkness that had descended upon him; or so the others hoped. He answered when spoken to now and addressed both elders and contemporaries with polite and quiet respect – or, most of his contemporaries; Thranduil he still pointedly ignored – and involved himself in tasks around the campsite without even being asked for help. Oropher was glad to see the slow transformation, but that feeling came tainted with bitterness. Linwë had come through alone. His brother's cool ways had frosted over with the winter, and it was as though the two were strangers. Felith assured him often that time would heal the rift and painful wounds left behind. He only wished he had her confidence.

Towards the rear of the riders, Thranduil's cerulean eyes narrowed as he watched conversation start up and flow between his mother and father. He stared at them, alternating his glare from one turned back to the other, pinning them with animosity until a soft sigh from beside him drew his attention away. He looked up in time to see poorly concealed exasperation flicker across his new friend's face. "What?" He asked the question, though he knew well what was coming.

"Just tell them. Get it over and done with," Veassen muttered. "You will feel better for it, I am sure."

"No. If they cannot see for themselves, I am not going to lay the answer at their feet. It is simple enough," Thranduil grated mutinously, "and they are not simple."

A musical laugh came from the other boy's father, riding just ahead of them; he had turned on his horse's back to look at the children. "You make me wonder. So quiet at times and tranquil, yet those eyes of yours could burn a hole through any precious metal. Were you older, I would be afraid to face them."

"Sorry." The Elfling squeezed his eyes shut, and the deep pools were softened when he reopened them. "Is that any better?"

"Don't apologise. Just wait until you reach adulthood, and you will find that such a gaze can come in useful," Taldur replied. "For now, though, I have some advice for you." He slowed his horse, and dropped his voice a notch. "I know not the reason for your anger, but dampen it. Unless you want to be on the wrong side of your father's temper, of course."

"With all due respect, sir," Thranduil murmured, "I do not care for his temper."

Veassen's eyes widened in unison with his own sire's unamused shake of the head as he rode forwards once more to join his wife and daughters. "Valar! Either you are very brave or very foolish. I think some of Linwë rubbed off on you. Or you are just pretending that Oropher's wrath does not worry you, in an attempt to make yourself look angrier than you truly are."

"No, I am angry. And to _be _quitetruthful, he does not frighten me as much as my uncle would, were he my father instead," Thranduil answered. "All he does is lecture me or take away privileges. And I don't care today."

"If you say so," Veassen shrugged.

"I do."

They rode on in silence after the vehement words, breaking it only occasionally to mutter thanks when one held a branch back for the other, or gave way when the woodland path they followed narrowed. Winter sun high overhead shone through the gaps in the trees, but it offered little heat and did nothing to melt the icy patches formed over the ground, making the ride a risky undertaking for those less experienced on horseback. The children's mounts slipped often, though they were quick to regain their footing without further troubles, so when Thranduil's pony stumbled, he thought nothing of it and gripped her mane to secure himself. The crack which came a second later made him freeze.

"Veassen, get your mother," he whispered.

The other Elfling rode swiftly ahead to find Vendethiel, the immortal woman whose talent lay in healing animal wounds, and Thranduil slid fluidly to the ground. Any mortal of any age would have fallen on the slippery surface, but Elven balance held him unwaveringly still. His injured pony was silently shaking, large brown eyes wide in her long face. He pressed his own childish one against her shaggy mane, breathing nonsensical words in an attempt at allaying her fears, but he could see the unnatural angle of her front left leg and knew it was painful for her.

"Darling, what happened?" That was Felith. He turned away to let Vendethiel tend the horse, but his mother pursued. "Are you well? Did she slip?"

"It seems that way." Thranduil looked at her, a thousand unspoken words hidden behind the surface of his young face, and shrugged almost carelessly. "I am fine, thank you for caring. My horse is worse off than I am. You can go on riding."

"Not without knowing that you are right behind me," Felith replied, her voice hardened by concern for her only child. "If you think for one moment that I will continue whilst you stand in the cold, you are quite mistaken."

Words that sounded excruciatingly close to "You do not care that much" left the boy's lips, but Oropher's approach silenced the woman's question before it was conceived, though the desire to understand her son was overwhelming. She searched his downcast eyes with her own similar ones, intensified by desperation to know, but nothing came from the deep blue pools, just anger and a confusion which matched her own. Turning her gaze away with a reluctant sigh, she raised one eyebrow at her husband in question.

"It is a sprain. Easily fixable and not as awful as we feared, although Vendethiel has advised against the horse being ridden," Oropher explained. "Understandably so. She hopes her medicines will work within the week, but until they do, Thranduil must journey with us. Whether he likes it or not."

"He might protest, but the pony and he are dear friends," Felith replied. "He will not risk-

"I am here!"

The cry was like a lightning strike through the sky, and Oropher blinked in apparent surprise. "Valar, is that so? How very strange. We have seen sight nor sound of you all day, yet here you stand before us. Were _we_ ignoring _you_? Did that anger you, penneth?"

"Just don't talk as though I do not exist," Thranduil muttered. "And don't expect me to ride with you. I would rather walk."

If the older Sinda's temper was tested by such blatant disrespect, he commendably showed no signs of anger. Indeed, he spoke almost pleasantly. "Unfortunately for you, that is not an available option. You will sit before me or your mother at all times, even if we must tie you in place. You will also refrain from making any complaints. Do you understand that, or must I explain myself further?"

"No, Father."

Felith exchanged startled looks with Oropher, though both recovered their calm facades quickly enough that the shock could have been just imaginary. The usage of that word from their young son was a first time event, and it sounded foreign to their ears. It was always '_ada_'. Always. She watched through clouded eyes as her husband lifted Thranduil and mounted his dark horse, waiting patiently nearby, and a shadow of doubt gnawed away at her. Something was wrong. She felt as though she should know the answer, but it lay just out of her mind's reach, frustratingly close.

As they rode on to catch up with the other Elves, leaving Vendethiel and Taldur behind to tend to the injured pony, Oropher leaned down to whisper in his child's delicately pointed ear. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?" he breathed. "You can. You know that."

"Yes, and there is something." Thranduil focused his gaze on the cloaked back of Rochendil scouting some way ahead, his eyes following the dark green material as it snapped back and forth in the wind. It looked like a snake striking at helpless prey. "Your hair is tickling me."

Emerald eyes widened in a face darkened by fury, and the owner found himself in a battle to keep from raising a hand to the insolent child. His fingers tightened in the horse's mane, transferring his anger to the thick strands, a safer option than anywhere else. "Is it? Be careful, child. If you dislike that so much, I would hate to see how you cope with anything much more serious. You are certainly going in that direction."

A flicker of something unnameable passed across Thranduil's face, and it seemed for a moment that he would give an apology rather than dig himself a much deeper grave. It was no more than fleeting, though. He drew himself up and continued to stare straight ahead, not speaking, not reacting to his father's threat. Thoughts and memories of the day flashed through his mind and he watched them, remembering his excitement that morning, the disappointment that followed soon after, the confusion. Then the realisation that his parents… He shook himself mentally, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to hold the tears back. _It's not fair. All I wanted was for them to… And they didn't._

"Why are you being this way?" Oropher asked, his voice softer, as though tenderness would pull out answers. "You are always so well behaved, but today you are no better than a spoilt brat. Have we ever spoilt you?"

"No, you have not," Thranduil answered monotonously.

"Then, why?"

Silence. The dark haired Elf let one hand fall onto his son's shoulder and held it there, a subtle yet constant reminder that all the child had to do was turn and he would not have vanished, ready to listen and help if he could. He could feel Thranduil's tension, though; he could feel him fighting the desire to pull away from that contact and run far. _Why are you sad, ion-nín? What have we done to upset you so? _Rather than voicing the questions, he bit them back and continued along the woodland path, sharp eyes focused intently upon the frosted forest floor. Sometimes they drifted back to his son's bowed head, though, and the wonderings would flood his mind once more. As Felith had experienced before, he too felt an uncomfortable sensation that he should be able to answer himself, but nothing came.

They had been riding for just another ten minutes when flakes began to drift downwards, slow at first, then faster and faster until the horses trod upon a blanket of whiteness. The sky overhead was grey, a sure sign that the weather would not improve any time soon. Oropher muttered a curse, remembering his young child's presence a second too late; he cursed again, silently this time, though he still received a look from Felith as though she had read his mind. The warrior brothers, Beinian and Megildur, had reported earlier in the day that shelter lay not too far ahead, but he had hoped to reach it before the heavens betrayed them. All they could do was press on in the hope that they arrived at their campsite in good time and with minimal damage from the heavy snows; although, with the luck he had had so far that day, he did not intend on holding his breath.

By the time they arrived at the large hollow some while later, freezing clumps of alabaster snow had accumulated around the boles of trees, inevitably blocking any escape from underground warrens or setts. Oropher felt a moment of pity for the animals trapped below, but it was just fleeting. Protecting his own family and followers was what he had to focus his attentions on. Branches were laden down with the icy matter, flexing almost lazily as they did in the spring months when heavy with fruit. Stepping into the sheltered basin was like stepping into a different world. The temperatures were not as extreme; the floor was untouched by whiteness; the steep banks offered defence from wind, rain and cold. It would do well for a night of rest.

Before Oropher could help his son to the ground, the Elfling had already dismounted and was walking in the opposite direction, to the far end of the hollow where he threw his small pack down and sat miserably upon it, deliberately keeping his blue gaze fixed away from his parents. Instead he watched the other travellers dismount and set up tents and bedrolls, prepare fires and unwrap food from protective cloths. He was hungry, but he knew that even forcing the meals down his throat would be an impossible task today. His eyes drifted to the left and found Linwë, setting up a tent with the aid of Fainauriel; though their glances met and locked briefly, and he chanced a smile, it was not returned. The other Elfling just shrugged. _It's not fair. It isn't. Nearly everyone hates me today. _That was not true and he knew it, but the self-indulgent part of his mind would not entertain that thought. Wallowing in his own self-pity was a satisfaction he was yet reluctant to relinquish. It made him feel better, and the Valar knew he needed that.

Barely audible footsteps upon the ground announced Oropher, and he replied to the older Elf's request for help putting up their own tent with not a word. The small pavilions were used only rarely and when the weather demanded that extra shelter was needed, but as he tied off ropes and held wooden poles in place for his father, Thranduil reflected bitterly that he hated tents. He hated them, and he hated sleeping outside. _I hate this journey and everything about it. _Felith had told him once that hate was a strong word and he surely could not understand its depth, but no other word in his vocabulary was powerful enough for his emotions.

"Thank you for that. I would not have finished it even half as swiftly without your hands," Oropher said. He watched his child's face for a flash of something – anything – at the praise, but he was met with blankness. "You did well, penneth."

"I only helped raise a tent," Thranduil snapped. "I don't think it is a great achievement, Ada."

The dark haired Sinda's eyes flashed, glittering like emeralds set alight, but he spoke no words as accompaniment. He ducked inside the pavilion and set about arranging beds for himself and his family, listening all the while to the audible sighs and mutters from his son, still outside. They made no sense. With every fibre of his being did he try to understand, to put himself in the place of an Elfling, to remember his own childhood; none of this yielded any answers. All he could do was ask outright, but even that would be another fruitless task, he was sure. Throughout his musings still existed that gnawing thought that he should already know the reason behind the evident hurting of the young immortal, but it never came any closer.

"Where did Ada go, Thranduil?"

"In there."

"Will you find him? I have food for us."

"I expect he can hear you."

"Be that as it may, I would like you to-

"I don't want to."

Inside the tent, Oropher's eyes widened and he almost dropped the blankets held in his arms. Had he not been standing just feet away from the conversation, he would not have believed that his gentle Elfling was capable of such rudeness, especially to Felith. This was going far behind an easily dismissed bout of childish naughtiness. He inched closer to the flap of the tent and watched through the slit as his wife placed two plates upon the ground and held a third out to their son. Thranduil regarded the food in silence, taking his time over the matter as though he had all of eternity to contemplate, before reaching up and selecting a crust of bread. Bringing it to his lips, he winced and immediately flung it away; the look he gave his mother was one of utter disgust.

"Thranduil!" Oropher was out of the tent in an instant, leaning down to grip the child's shoulders as tightly as he dared without causing pain. "That is inexcusable. We have had no opportunity to replenish our provisions for days now, and you just threw that bread onto the floor as though our supplies are endless. I am unsure whether making you go hungry or eating that dirty crust is a more suitable punishment."

"I-don't-care," Thranduil ground out.

"Well, you will. I am making a list in my head of every small thing you do, and be aware that it is becoming longer and longer as the minutes pass," Oropher hissed. "This is your final chance. One more item on that list, and you will find yourself experiencing a very different side to me. I am not afraid to take a leaf from my brother's book and send you to bed with a backside you are unable to sit on for some days. Is that clear to you, child?"

Physical discipline had never before played any part in the Elfling's upbringing, but looking into his father's face, he did not doubt for a moment that it would tonight if he did not change his ways – and swiftly, too. As though all of the fight had been pulled from him with that threat looming overhead, he went limp in Oropher's hold and gave a whispered, "Yes, sir".

"Good. Ensure it is not forgotten." The dark haired Sinda stared dangerously into the blue eyes in front of him a second longer, before jerking his hands free and striding away through the large hollow. At any other time he would have been hailed for conversation by the other Elves, but his fury on this day shone like a beacon in the night sky, and all averted their gazes from him.

Thranduil watched him go, and conflicting emotions played upon his face as the temptation to run after Oropher and apologise fought against the angry bitterness still raging inside of him. He _was _sorry; sorry that he had kept the truth hidden away and passed the whole day in misery. All it would have taken, he reflected sadly, was four words. Just four. It was too late now, though. He had chosen a path, and there was no stepping off it. _I have to see it through to the end, and why should I not? I am not in the wrong. They are. They must be. _

"I want to question you, but that has been done already with no answers," Felith murmured. "Perhaps if we do not press, you will find it within yourself to see that we want to help you. Your upsets can be shared, penneth, if only you would trust us."

"Nana, I trust you," Thranduil replied quietly, "but how can I confide in you when…when you and Ada are the reason behind my troubles?"

Azure eyes widened at the softly accusing words, but Felith schooled her face into an impassive mask, flickers of hurt betraying her for just a second. She picked up her plate of bread, cheese and vegetables, and stepped under the flap into the tent. Her only child followed her departure with a sorrowful gaze, and wondered silently whether he had distressed her, whether the wall between them hid tears. Before he realised what he was doing, the boy had taken a step forwards as though to go after his mother, offer comfort and a hundred apologies. He caught himself just in time, and sat deliberately upon the ground. _No. I am staying here. _

He could not be certain how long he did stay there for, alone and shivering in the chilly air, but the afternoon had been replaced by evening when Felith finally emerged from the tent, hard faced, determined to hold her stretched emotions in check before any other than her own judgement. She leaned down and wrapped slender fingers around Thranduil's wrist – they were strong, deceptively so – and pulled him to his feet. Dragging would be incorrect, but she led him through the sheltered hollow the way a meek dog is led; her grip brooked no resistance.

"Where are we going?"

"I will not have you repeat yourself tomorrow, for your own sake as much as any other's. A good night's sleep will do you good, and I hope, cool your temper," Felith replied firmly. "A swift bath to wash the journey's dust from you, and then bed. Argue, but you will not be successful in this fight."

"I was not going to," Thranduil muttered.

He followed the Elven woman up out of the basin to a level where the air was slightly colder and whitened by snow, through trees and past icy boulders to a clearing some way on. His breath came out in mist, and though he amused himself holding it for as long as possible before releasing a long exhalation, the thought of the water, sure to be freezing, did not vanish from his mind. His eyes narrowed to cerulean slits and he nodded once, determination painted in the gesture. No, he would not cause further trouble. Not any more.

"Clothes off," Felith instructed.

Thranduil started to unclasp his cloak, then he stopped and took a step forwards. With just the tip of one finger, he tested the temperature of the pool and… "Oh! Nana, feel it. It is too icy to bathe in. I will freeze."

"Which of my words did you fail to understand?" the lady asked quietly. "I told you not to fight me any more. Now, do as you have been told. Please. I am weary, and have no wish to repeat myself."

"Is this a punishment? Are you doing this because I have been bad?" Tears filled Thranduil's eyes, and he blinked furiously to vanquish them. _It's only water. Just water, and coldness. _But his finger stung from being dipped into the pool, he couldn't subject his whole body to that. "Nana, you don't know how cold it is. Touch the water, and you will see. I don't want to. I can't… I won't."

"Won't. Won't?" Felith moved forwards and knelt upon the ground to be at a level with her son, and set about where he had stopped, unfastening his cloak. "Ada is furious with you; I am losing my patience. Whatever your reasons, do you not think that the rope you tread on is a thin one? No, this is not a punishment, and you will obey me. I do not wish to be angry, but you make it increasingly difficult."

As the thick cloak fell away from his shoulders, Thranduil jerked out of the loosened hold he was in, grabbing the chance while it still stood and stepping as far back as he could go without touching the pool he was so eager to avoid. Cold air rushed through the material of his tunic, sending shivers up and down his body. His mind screamed in protest. Against the weather, against his mother, against everything. It all coalesced to form one explosion, and the touch of hands upon him once more ignited the fuse. He pushed them away, pushed the owner away from him.

"You foolish, _foolish _child," Felith whispered. She had him by one wrist, was locked in a futile struggle to bring him under control. "You must stop this nonsense now. You must! I cannot, nor will I, protect you from a punishment that you deserve. If you do not cease, I will have no choice but to go and find your father and let him deal with you."

"No need to find me, Felith."

Mother and son froze. They looked like children caught sticking fingers into a jar of honey, but the situation was not quite as light. In the almost tangible silence, as he watched Oropher enter the clearing with a frostily hard expression and glittering eyes, Thranduil was sure the pounding of his heart could be heard by all. He was frightened. So much so that he came close to burying his face in Felith's skirts, as though hiding himself from the wrathful gaze riveted upon him would somehow make it all go away, make things better.

"Meleth-nín, there is no need to-

Oropher raised one hand and sliced it through the air, the way he would a knife, silencing the Elven woman's half hearted protests. "Leave us, Felith. Go back to the camp. We will follow."

For a moment Thranduil thought that a plea of "Do not be too hard on him" left his mother's lips, but surely he was mistaken. She had threatened to find his father herself, even knowing what that would mean for him. He watched her leave, followed her retreating back with his eyes until it became invisible, and even then he did not retract his gaze. Rather that than look up at Oropher, standing tall above him, though he could feel the emanating anger as though it was physical matter. _Don't look. Don't look. Don't-_

"You have one minute," the dark haired Elf said quietly. His voice was an unnerving contrast to the blaze of his eyes, shining like emerald flames. "One minute to tell me _everything _that is inside your head. Fail to satisfy me with an explanation, and I will make good on my threat. I promise you that now. And take care not to waste time. A minute is only short."

Thranduil's eyes fluttered shut, and a long breath left his lips as he found himself sinking to the ground. It was damp, but he could not find it in him to care, even notice. "I will obey you, although I cannot see how it will make a difference. I am just the same as anyone else, and even those who are hurting – Linwë, Veryatur – do not cause trouble as I have done for you today. But if you want to know…

"Firstly, I miss Linwë. He will not look at me, let alone speak; sometimes I find myself wondering if he blames me for Laire leaving, but I don't understand how that could be so. He was my first friend, Ada. He made me laugh and feel special. Nobody else I have befriended can do that, even if they try. I want him to like me again, but I don't know how to stop him hating me.

"Secondly, I miss Saeldur and Uncle Vehiron. It will be months before we see them, and I don't think I can wait that long. Other than you and Nana, they are my only family, the only Elves I have known since birth, and I want them to be here with us so much that it hurts. I'm lonely. If they had come on this journey, I would have someone I could always be with."

"What of your mother and myself?" Oropher snapped. "Do we not exist?"

"You do, but I don't! The other Elves see you as their leader. They look to you for guidance and protection, and you give it to them. But Ada, I have seen this leadership change you. Your attentions are focused wholly on your 'followers', and that makes you forget those closest to you," Thranduil replied, his voice surprisingly vehement for a small child. During the tirade he had risen, punctuating his points with jagged hand gestures, actions which made him look older than he was. "Do you know that I am afraid? Afraid of losing another of our companions, afraid that we might be attacked by Orcs or wolves or anything else, afraid that we will never make it to Greenwood. I cry at night, but neither you nor Nana know that. I am tried of travelling and sleeping outside on uncomfortable bedrolls. I want a home, Ada, but I don't know where that is and…and you and Nana have forgotten me."

"Forgotten… That is nonsense," Oropher berated sharply. His eyes flickered in doubt, though, despite the words. There was that gnawing feeling. "Your minute is ending, child."

Thranduil raised his eyes to gaze up at the older Sinda, but he spoke no words for some moments. When he did, his voice was like the surface of the pool – calm, even, unwavering. It was a battle to keep it so. "Tell me something," he murmured. "Tell me what day it is."

"For your sake, I hope there is a point to this," Oropher hissed. "_Oranor_. The day is _Oranor_."

Silver droplets of sadness sprang to life in deep blue eyes, and the little boy bowed his head towards the ground. The war he had waged to keep his voice from shaking was lost in an instant, and he struggled to make himself speak the words. Slowly, they came. "No, Ada. It is my Begetting Day."

_Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. We would not forget that. Of course not. Unless... No. _In conjunction with his adamant sentiments, Oropher ran through the days since they had left Lindon some weeks ago. He had known they would be travelling on that special day, but… _Surely its arrival could not have slipped my mind. _But the realisation slammed into him almost in unison with that determined thought. It was today. He had forgotten.

"I knew there would be no gifts, and I didn't care about that because I am not so selfish as to put myself above the importance of our journey," Thranduil continued quietly. "I did think that you would remember, though. When you and Nana did not even acknowledge my Begetting Day, I just… I was hurt. That is why I did not speak. I thought you had stopped caring."

"That is not true." The words sounded a thousand leagues away to Oropher as he still struggled to absorb the revelation. "Not true at all."

"Then, why did you not…? Why did you forget?" Thranduil whispered.

Too many answers ran through the father's mind, defences he knew could never justify the crime, and he discarded them with vicious determination. He would not pretend that what he had done – or failed to do – was excusable. To a race which walked Arda for eternity, Begetting Days became trivial matters, easily ignored unless a milestone was reached. There were just too many to pay heed to them as each year passed by. Elven children, though, counted down the days until they could celebrate and open gifts, feast and have special privileges bestowed upon them for just one rising of the sun. For them, the day of their conception was one of the most important in the calendar. That any parent should allow such an event to evade their minds was unforgivable, whether they shouldered other burdens or not.

"Leaving Lindon was one of the most important days of my life, cast into shadow only by my marriage to your mother, and your birth," Oropher explained softly. "It heralded a new start for us all, but I have let myself become entangled in leading everyone to Greenwood and ensuring that nothing else hurts us along the way. So caught have I been that I…I just… Valar, I cannot lie and say that I did not forget. I did, Thranduil. I did, and that is all there is. You have heard the words from my own mouth. I am sorry, but I have not once stopped caring about you. You must believe that."

"You cannot lie," the child repeated, his voice vehement as though he was yet unconvinced. "You said that yourself, so I _do _believe. Too much today made me think otherwise, though. Nana gave me the bread when we arrived in the hollow, but it has gone stale. I would eat it to save trouble, but it is too hardened for an Elfling's teeth to break. I thought she should have known. I took that as another sign that you did not care. I'm-

The apology was not even half formed on his son's lips before Oropher pulled him into a breath stopping embrace. "Don't," he hissed gently. "Do not even consider telling me that you are sorry. Yes, speaking the truth of your anger would have saved all of this from happening, but you are not to blame. There is only one who can claim such a thing, and that is not you."

Thranduil's hands tightened their hold on the older Sinda's cloak, and a rush of emotions flooded him as he felt tender fingers sliding along the flaxen strands of his hair. He had been wrong, so very wrong. His parents may well have forgotten his Begetting Day, but that no longer meant anything to him. They cared. They cared, and that was all that mattered. Sadness had been his since dawn; now it flowed away from him like the rapids of a river, and he found himself wanting to laugh at the pure foolishness which had made him believe something so far from the truth.

"Thank you for giving me a chance to explain myself," he murmured against his father's chest. "You could have just punished me straight away. I respect you for letting me speak."

"I am glad I was not so hasty, otherwise I truly would never have forgiven myself," Oropher replied in a sigh. He pulled back from the embrace, and began to wrap his child in the cloak that Felith had removed minutes before. Damp from the ground stained its green material, though, and he pulled his own larger one from his shoulders to envelope Thranduil in the warm, dry folds. "There. You look just like a butterfly in a cocoon."

"A butterfly who cannot walk," the Elfling smiled. He tried to kick his feet, but the heavy garment afforded little movement. "And I have no wings, Ada."

"No wings?" Oropher repeated. "Valar, a mistake was made in your making. How do you intend on getting back to the camp, then? Walking is not an option, and flying certainly is not. Must I carry you, my starling?"

"I think so-" Thranduil gasped as strong arms lifted him high into the air, far above the ground which suddenly seemed leagues below him, and he gave a breathy laugh as he was brought back to rest against his father's chest. He had not been worried. Not for an instant. "Ada! I thought you said no flying. You just…." He paused, and let his mind flash back to a conversation he had heard between some of the adults earlier that day. "You…contradicted yourself."

"A big word for a little Elf," Oropher smiled.

As he walked the path which led back to their campsite, his mind inevitably flew over his failure as a parent, and he automatically tightened his hold on the child in his arms. Though he knew it to be true, though the words of betrayal had played ruthlessly a hundred times over in his head, the struggle to believe that he could put such a crime to his name was painful. Every so often he found himself wanting to question whether or not he really had let himself forget Thranduil's Begetting Day, but he always managed to catch himself just in time; he did not want to think of the damage such doubtful words could do to his already hurting son if voiced.

"What will you say to Nana?"

Pulled from reverie, Oropher looked into the azure eyes gazing into his own. "The truth," he replied in surprise. "What else would you have her hear?"

"She will be sad," Thranduil murmured.

The dark haired Elf released a long sigh, but he had to nod concurrence to the statement. "Yes, I have no doubt of that. But don't you start to feel guilty. If there are any repercussions from this, your mother and I have brought them upon ourselves. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Ada."

"Good boy." As the two Elves reached the entrance to their makeshift camp, Oropher set his son back on the ground and took the large cloak from around his small shoulders. "I want you to do something for me: Go and play with Veassen for ten minutes before returning to our tent. Perhaps I can prepare some food that is easier for you to eat than that hard bread."

Thranduil gave his father a sideways glance at the transparency of the words, but nodded silently nonetheless before turning on his heel and running through the camp to find his friend. Following the child's path with the green pools of his eyes, Oropher allowed a weary exhalation of breath to leave his lips. He knew what had to be done now. He had a revelation to reveal to his wife, and that was one thing he did not look forward to doing. Not for the first instance in just a short time, he cursed himself as he slowly made his way to their tent. He was sure it would not be the last time he did so before the night was over. Indeed, as he swept aside the canvas flap and ducked inside, he did it once more for good measure. It made him feel marginally better.

"Well?" Felith was sat upon a bedroll with her legs folded underneath her, and although she did not rise at his entrance, she seemed ready to jump to her feet and shake answers out of her husband. "What happened? Where is he? What did you do?"

There was only silence after the barrage, and Oropher replied with a smile devoid of any humour as he threw his cloak carelessly upon the ground. "I wish with all of my heart there was a way to tell you what I have done without hurting you, but that is an impossibility. This is an important day, a special day, and it escaped my mind until I was given a harsh reminder by our son."

"I do not understand," Felith whispered.

"You forgot also."

The Elven woman gazed up at him from beneath long lashes, and her golden head shook slowly. "I still do not… I have felt something in the back of my mind since the rising of the sun, but I have been unable to identify it. Will you not end my misery and tell me?"

"Our only child was conceived on this day," Oropher said shortly.

A sharp gasp flew from Felith's lips at the words. She raised one hand to her mouth, and again she shook her head as though that could change the truth behind the unveiling. "How is that…? How could we…?" The breathed questions were not finished. Wide blue eyes squeezed themselves tightly shut, and one tear escaped from beneath their lashes to leave a silver stain on a paled cheek.

Oropher sat wordlessly at his wife's side, pulling her close against him and tenderly stroking her hair as she cried inaudibly against his chest. She made no noise and was still, but he knew she wept for their young son's hurt. Their marriage bond lent them the ability to sense each other's feelings and emotions as though they did not belong to a different individual, and he knew her tears were real and many just as he would have known had they been his own. He tightened his hold around her slim waist, offering comfort where he knew words could not, and made himself wait for calm to descend upon her before speaking once more.

Minutes passed them by, and it wasn't until a trembling hand came up to wipe away tears that the dark haired Elf deemed it right to give voice to his thoughts. "I know it hurts," he murmured. "I know. When I realised what we had done, I was so… I just did not believe for a long time. But it has happened, and we cannot change that whether we want to with all of our hearts or not. Thranduil knows we are sorry."

"Does that lessen it?" Felith demanded, pulling away from her husband's embrace. "What we have done? Can you look into my eyes and tell me that means we should be forgiven?"

"I said not so, but I do think there is little to be gained by dwelling on this. You may not feel we deserve forgiveness, but it has been given by our son and he wants us to forget all that has passed," Oropher replied quietly. "We owe him that."

"We owe him much more. Valar, how is it possible that we let such a special event evade us? Now that I know the truth, I do not blame him for the strange way he has acted today," Felith murmured. "How did we forget? How?"

"Don't be upset any more, Nana." The two Elves looked up in unison, sudden gentle smiles upon their faces as a small figure stepped into the tent, small enough that he did not need to duck underneath the flap. "Ada is right. I have forgiven you, and I don't want you to go on thinking about it. I have many more Begetting Days ahead of me, so if you remember those, I don't mind that you forgot this one. Truly."

Oropher drew apart slightly from his wife, and gestured to the free space between them. "Come here. Many children would hold something like this against their parents, but you have shown your compassion and that you do not hold grudges. I am proud of you for that; very proud."

"You doubted our love for you, and that should never have been allowed to happen," Felith said quietly. "I want you to hold deep in your heart that we _do_ love you, more than anything on these shores and beyond, so that you might touch on that knowledge and draw from it whenever you need to, wherever you may be and wherever we may be. Do you understand that? Will you do it?"

Thranduil tilted his head to one side to look up at his mother, and a smile turned his lips towards the deep pools of his eyes, shadowed slightly in the dimness of the tent. "I love you too, Nana." A pause as he glanced the other way. "And you, Ada."

"I know," Oropher answered. He used the tips of two slender fingers to brush strands of wayward hair back from the child's face, and returned the smile with a tender one of his own. "You need to eat. Give me a few minutes to find you something suitable, and we can have our dinner together."

"Yes, please. I would like that," Thranduil said softly.

As the dark haired Sinda left the tent to sort through the food packs, his young son watched him out of sight before turning to wrap both arms tightly around Felith's waist and rest his head against her stomach. She started at the unexpected contact, but the surprise painted upon her fair face was swiftly replaced by pleasure as she returned the embrace, cuddling the Elfling close and planting a gentle kiss upon his golden head. They sat that way for a long while, enveloped in the unique love shared between a mother and her child. No words passed between them, but no words were needed; and when Oropher returned just minutes later, both his wife and son were deep in slumber.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The verdant region of Eriador had been a victim of robbery since the snow's arrival, losing its hundred hues of green to an impenetrable blanket of pure white which wrapped frosty fingers around all it touched. It was a scene that would have been monotonous if not so radiant, an ongoing tableau broken only at intervals by harsh winter sun, brighter than any other, stabbing through laden boughs as easily as any knife. Silence lay heavily over the woodland. Those birds who had not sought warmer climates huddled together in twos and threes in thick bowers of twigs and leaves, their songs still upon frozen beaks. Wild animals remained in the very depths of dens and lairs and tunnelled warrens; only the delicate smattering of a lone fox's paw prints suggested that life played a part in the white winter world.

Quiescence. So pure, so untouched it made the land empty and desolate in spite of nature's heavy presence, but a sudden peal of childish laughter like ringing bells changed all of that. A group of sheltering pheasants took to the air as two Elflings ran past their hiding place, reproaching them with indignant cries. The children paid no heed, though. If anything, they laughed harder. Their light feet left gentle imprints in the powdery snow, landing atop the fox's and dashing those into history.

"You cannot catch me!"

"So you said the last time, but I did."

"Only because I tripped on a-

"Root," Thranduil snickered as his companion met the floor again. He sat upon Veassen's back, pushing the fallen boy's face into the snow. "I used to race my cousin in Lindon if he was in a good temper. I know how to run."

The other Elfling spluttered indignantly at the injustice dealt to him, and writhed and flailed until a second dose of cold powder stilled him. "I yield," he choked. "You win this time. Now get off!"

"I am glad our parents let us leave the camp to play. I did not think they would. Or, I thought they might send your eldest sister to watch over us," Thranduil smiled, rolling off his friend and lying carelessly in the snow. "This is fun. Cold, but fun."

"Just wait until I get my revenge." Veassen raised one clenched fist, and flakes of white drifted from it. "Then you will say something different."

The golden haired child laughed happily, and sat up to gaze around at their bright surroundings. "Do you remember that hill we passed? If we found a suitable enough device, we could slide down it and… What are you doing? What…? Do you think that is a good idea?"

He folded his legs underneath him, ignoring the dampness seeping through the material of his clothes, and watched as the other boy scaled the branches of an old willow tree, iced all over in piles of white. His deep eyes narrowed against the glaring sun assaulting the top of the woodland, and he shaded them too with a small hand for added protection. He could not help but shake his head. No matter where they were to make their new home, they were not Wood-elves; at least, not yet.

"You were born in a great city, Veassen," Thranduil attempted half-heartedly. "How many trees did you climb in Lindon? If you fall…"

"I won't- Oh!"

The blond child flinched and his eyes flew shut as his friend slipped. When he peered out from between his fingers a moment later, Veassen was clambering unsteadily onto a branch, a foolish smile painted upon his face. "No, I see that you are very safe up there. I have no worries for you. May I ask, though, if there is a point to any of this?"

"You may."

"And?"

"Up here," Veassen answered triumphantly, "I am the King of the Forest. And you, being so very far below me, are my subject. And subjects must bow to their rulers and obey every command, so I command _you_ to get down and bow." His smile was gone in an instant, and he waved one hand as regally as any royal Elf could manage. "Bow, subject. Bow to me."

Thranduil flung a handful of snow in the other's direction, accompanied by a scornful look. "I have no intentions of lowering myself. I am not your subject, nor will I ever be. You are just foolish."

"Attack! Attack on the King!" Veassen cried dramatically. "Wait until I lay my hands on you, knave. You will spend eternity in the dungeons!"

"If you say so," Thranduil sighed. "Now how do you plan on getting down from there, King of the Forest?"

The question was met by only silence. After close on fifteen minutes and a great amount of encouragement, the King of the Forest had his feet safely on the ground and the children were able to continue their journey through the snowy woods. Veassen insisted quite adamantly that the pink flush to his cheeks was to be blamed on the wind and the chill in the air rather than embarrassment, though the fact that it deepened every time his small adventure was mentioned did not aid his case. It was not until genuine frustration laced his voice that his friend recognised his wish for discretion, and came to a halt in the middle of the path.

"All right, I swear that the incident in the tree will stay a secret between us and will never again be brought up," Thranduil promised contritely. Despite his voice, a hint of a smile touched his lips. "Now can we go to the lake? The ice will have thawed if we stand here all day."

"For your sake, I hope you keep that promise," Veassen muttered.

"What would you do? Have your tree friends attack me?"

As a handful of snow flew in his direction, Thranduil jumped out of its way and ran on ahead through the trees and brush. He could hear his friend's feet just paces behind him, and he put on an extra burst of speed to outdistance himself from the other boy. Barely breathing heavily, he dashed through a column of linden trees and immediately ground to a halt. A second later, Veassen arrived at his side, eyes wide as they gazed at the frozen lake and the children gathered around it. All were there expect shy Castien, although that was to be expected.

"You have finally arrived," Edhilwen berated. "Did you become lost?"

"We knew out way," Veassen retorted, cutting his eyes at his sister. "Didn't we?"

Thranduil started as he realised the words were meant for him. He gave nothing more than an absent nod as reply, for his attention was trained elsewhere. Within the group of children stood Linwë, coldly silent as he stared hard upon the newcomers, his expression suddenly a picture of arrogance and dislike. It was the first occasion on which the two feuding boys had been in each other's company without the warning presence of an adult to keep conflict at bay.

"Don't start anything," Soron sighed.

"Nothing has started, nor is it going to," Veassen said sharply. He glared at the older youth a moment before turning his back on the others to face his friend. "We don't have to stay. That hill will be in the same place if you want to go there instead."

"No. This is not a battle, but he will think he has won some victory if I let myself walk away," Thranduil answered, his voice soft. "I want to stay here. We can build a snow figure."

"Wait!"

The boys caught themselves just as they were about to leave for a spot further around the lake, and turned back to see that Linwë had taken a few steps towards them. He wore a smile upon his fair face, but there existed a strange glint in his green eyes which had not been there before. Held in his hands was a heavy lump of wood, and he threw it over his shoulder onto the lake. It hit the ice and bounced along a few times, but no cracks appeared in the crystalline sheet.

"Are you leaving without hearing our plans?" he asked quietly.

"Your plans," Edhilwen corrected in a murmur.

"The lake is solid. Only a Dwarven army could have a hope of breaking through, so I proposed that one of us walks across to the other side. The only flaw," Linwë explained, "is that we could not decide who should be the adventurer."

"You two agreed to this?" Veassen asked incredulously, alternating his gaze between the older children.

Soron released a hiss of irritation from between his teeth, and shook his dark head back and forth. "As your sister said, they are his plans. We are nothing to do with them."

"Listen, listen," Linwë broke in. "To decide who should cross, I thought it should be the youngest. Until you two arrived, that was me. Not any more. Tell me your age, Veassen."

The smaller Elf's eyes narrowed to slits. "No. I am not taking part."

"Fine. You?"

Thranduil almost winced at the venom in that single word, but he held his head high as he delivered a reply. "I am now the same age as Veassen, but you did know that even before asking. His Begetting Day is in _Lothron. _Mine is…this month, but I was born the year after him, so therein lies your answer. I am the youngest. But I will not do this."

"You said it yourself," Linwë snapped. "You _are_ the youngest, and you _will_ cross the lake as my rules dictate or else incur a worse forfeit."

"I will not," Thranduil reiterated calmly. "I did not agree to play your game. Nor did Veassen. That means _you_ are the youngest participant and _you_ will cross the lake."

The auburn haired boy's eyes darkened in anger, and at his sides, his hands clenched into fists. "You," he hissed, "are cowardly. I said it once before in jest, but now I mean it with all of my heart. You're a coward. You're a coward and I hate you. You think, deep inside yourself, that we can be friends again one day, but I hold so much contempt for you that it hurts. You need to understand that. You must! I hate you. And I hope that if any more of our number are taken, you are the next one to go."

"Linwë!"

Thranduil never knew whose shocked voice that was. He looked away quickly to blink back tears; when he turned again, all trace of them were vanquished. "If that is true," he said quietly, "I want you to tell me two things. Firstly, why it is so very important for me to know this. Secondly, why you hate me so much but cannot meet my gaze when you say so."

Dark green eyes widened for just a second before their owner spun on his heel and stalked back towards the iced lake, muttering furiously under his breath as he went. Thranduil watched him go, silent and unaware of all else around him, and only a touch upon his arm pulled him into the present. He looked up to see Soron and Edhilwen staring at him, unable to speak any words in spite of their seniority amongst the group. Veassen was at his side, and the other boy tugged urgently upon his hand.

"I am so sorry," he breathed. "We should never have come here."

"Don't apologise. I wanted to, so I don't blame you," Thranduil replied numbly. "I just… Perhaps we should leave now. We can still make our snow figure. Just not here. Somewhere else."

"You are not all right, are you?" Veassen's voice was one notch above a whisper. "I can feel you trembling."

The blond haired child just looked at his friend. He had accepted that Linwë would never be who he had been at the start of their journey; he had finally come to terms with the fact that Linwë dislike him, maybe even hated him for some unknown reason; he could even tell himself that Linwë wanted nothing more to do with him. But hearing the older boy wish him gone had struck him hard and reopened a slowly healing wound. No, he was not all right. He was a long, long way from all right, and he didn't-

"No!"

A girl's scream spun both Thranduil and Veassen around in unison, and the scene which their eyes fell upon made their hearts drum painfully hard and skip beats respectively. Linwë was nowhere to be seen on the white banks of the lake. But blindingly clear before the small group of children, some short distance out, was a jagged hole in the ice where a weak area had given way beneath the boy's light weight. Linwë was in the water.

"He will freeze!" Edhilwen cried. "Oh Valar, help us!"

"They won't help," Veassen breathed.

Thranduil looked at his friend and saw the panicked glint in wide eyes, and he wondered at the calmness which had suddenly descended upon him. In his peripheral vision he saw splashes of icy water as Linwë struggled, but he forced them from his line of thought. "Who has a knife?" His voice was soft, but he spoke with determined urgency. "Edhilwen? No? Soron? Right, take it and get to work cutting a strong branch. Edhilwen, go with him."

"Do you have the faintest idea what you are doing?" the maiden cried hysterically. "You are just an Elfling!"

"And do you want Linwë to die?" Thranduil snapped. "Then forget my age and do as I say! Veassen, come with me."

"What are we- ?"

"We are going onto the ice."

"Oh, sweet Elbereth."

Slamming a shield between his mind and his friend's panicked mutterings, Thranduil lowered himself onto his hands and knees in the snow, and slowly but surely moved towards the frozen lake. The first touch of ice upon bare skin elicited a sharp hiss, and as he began the crawl across the lake, evenly distributing his weight lest he touch a fragile pane in the crystalline sheet, he found himself rueing the lack of gloves. _I knew I had forgotten something. They are fur-lined. I would be warm and- No! Concentrate!"_

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pressed on, trying his hardest to ignore the stinging flames which burnt the tender skin of his hands. The hole caused by Linwë's fall was close – he could see the other boy's auburn head atop a wildly thrashing body – but the searing coldness made the distance appear leagues away; the monotonous blanket of sparkling white lent the impression that the lake was an ocean, its clearing a vast desert. _No, nearly there. I am close now. So close…_

Amid the cries of frightened children and the splashing of freezing water came a terrible creaking and groaning, and Thranduil became paralysed as the ice shifted beneath he and Veassen. If it broke, they were lost without hope along with Linwë. Edhilwen and Soron would stand no chance at rescuing them, even with the lightness of body given to all Elves. They were taller, heavier. The ice _could not _break. It could not. But, no. As suddenly as it had started, the formidable noise became silence once more, and Thranduil released a breath he had not known he held as he urged his fear frozen body onwards. The hole lay just feet away. Linwë was making attempts to escape the icy abyss, but they were no more than futile. His fingers slipped on the jagged slides of his trap, and every two inches gained were trampled on by an inch back down as he fell. As his eyes alighted upon his rescuers, they widened in surprise.

"You!"

"Yes. There are only two here who have any hope of saving your life, so you cannot afford to hate me now. Wait until we are back on the bank," Thranduil replied quickly. "Now take our hands. We will pull you out. Linwë, take them. Linwë!"

"Do you want to die?" Veassen snapped.

Linwë stared up at the two younger Elflings, his lips parted as he struggled for breath and an answer to the question. The green irises of his eyes were darkened by terror. It seemed a whole eternity passed before he threw his arms upwards, flailing desperately for something to hold onto, something that he could not seem to find. Even as fingers wrapped around his wrists, he continued to wildly flounder. Perhaps he did want to die. Perhaps it had been his intention all along, and he had known from his first step upon the ice that he would die and… As Thranduil watched those thoughts fly through his mind, his heart sank desperately. He would not let it happen.

"We have you," he ground out through gritted teeth. "Now we need your help. You must stop."

"You have me? But I feel…nothing. I am numb," Linwë whispered. Tears spilled down his cheeks, defying nature itself as they refused to freeze. "I am so very cold, and I hurt. I hurt all over."

Veassen stared as the older boy wept, sparing only a glance for his friend at his side. "If we don't get him out now, I hate to think of the state he will be in when he leaves that water. He will not survive the cold and-

"I know," Thranduil broke in. "So we pull. Now!"

Twenty fingers tightened around Linwë's wrists, and though the children slipped on the ice and felt themselves sliding closer and steadily closer to the freezing hole, neither allowed their grip to waver or lessen. Linwë himself helped as much as his paralysed body let him, but it was a hard struggle. His lips had a bluish tinge to them and tears had frozen around his eyes, making his dark lashes seem longer than ever. His throat hurt more than anything else. The water had numbed him on the outside, but breathing harshly in the cold air seemed to tear his insides to shreds. The pain made him want to scream out loud, but his protesting lungs would barely let him breathe, let alone vent his fear.

"Pull harder!" Veassen cried. "We are nearly there!"

Thranduil did not need the encouragement. Holding his breath as he made one final effort, he pulled as though all of their lives depended upon this rescue, as though he along with everyone else would be damned if it failed to be a success. Sudden droplets of water splashed upon his face like stinging rain from high above, and he knew in that moment that it was over. The icy trap had released Linwë from its clutches. All three children collapsed upon the almost transparent sheet covering the lake as the eldest was set loose, and they lay there for time uncountable before a husky voice broke the silence. 

"You saved me."

Panting heavily, Thranduil swallowed down the breaths coming hard and fast, and shook his head wearily. "Never mind…that. We need to get you…" His own throat felt seared right through too, and he winced at the pain as he forced himself to speak more words. "You need warmth. Rest. We can't stay here."

"By Mordor!" If their resting place had been any stronger, Veassen would have leapt to his feet and returned to the banks at a solid run. "What are we thinking, lying on this death trap as though it is a mattress? Up! Get up! Linwë, I know that you are about as willing to move as a one-legged man after a night of wine and ale, but if you don't get up – that goes for you too, Thranduil – all three of us will be back in that water and-

"Veassen," Thranduil muttered. His head was pounding, and lights flickered before his eyes as a result of the sudden adrenaline, previously unknown to him. "Be quiet. We are up."

As he and the other boys reached the edge of the lake and set foot once more upon solid ground, the undergrowth rustled and parted to reveal Soron and Edhilwen returning at a run with an older immortal hot on their heels, bright Elven eyes wide with fear. Thranduil drifted away a few paces to watch the scene play out. He wanted nothing more to do with it. His part was over, and that was that. He pulled his damp cloak tighter around his body – he noticed absently that he was trembling – but it did not succeed in fighting off the chill.

"Linwë!" The newcomer was Veryatur. Now that he could see his brother and knew all was well, fear was swiftly replaced by raw anger. The fair Elf fell to his knees in the snow, pulling off his long cloak and wrapping it almost violently around the child. "You damned fool! What were you thinking? Is your wish to die?"

"I…I w-w-wasn't…thinking," Linwë shivered.

"You are right in that respect. Is it your ambition to slowly break me into pieces? Is that why you were put here? Is that why my mother and father died?" With each question, Veryatur's voice rose an extra notch. "If it is the reason behind your existence, you have my congratulations, for you have fulfilled it. Valar! Laire is sailing to Valinor, more than likely as we speak. Now you would take yourself – all I have left! – from me."

"P-please. I am s-s-sorry…"

At that word, Veryatur raised one hand high above his head. For an awful moment it seemed as though he would indeed strike the child, but he caught himself in time and tangled his fingers in his hair with a hissed oath. "Who put their life on the line to save yours? Whoever it was, your debt will not be repaid with a thousand thanks. Tell me. Who was it?"

"I saved him," Veassen interjected quietly. He glanced at the empty space beside him and the trees that Thranduil had vanished into after murmuring that he wished for no recognition; regret washed over him at the lie. "I went onto the ice and pulled him out."

"Then my family, such as we are, is in your debt," Veryatur said grimly. "What of the other boy?"

"He just pulled us onto the bank," Veassen muttered. He hated taking the credit, but he could not betray his friend's trust in him and not do as he had been asked.

"Is this true?"

Linwë started as his brother's voice penetrated his whirling and confused thoughts. "I…I think that…" Green eyes just a shade darker than his own narrowed, and he flinched underneath them. "I don't remember, Veryatur. All I knew was the coldness, and… I was frightened. Maybe I fell unconscious for a little while, because I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."

"Stop staying those words," the older sibling snapped. As his eyes wearily fluttered shut, he missed the look of reluctant understanding which passed between his charge and Veassen. "All right, we are returning to the camp without any arguments. Despite the overwhelming urge to punish your idiocy today, I will wait until you have recovered and instead make up a sleeping draught for you, and… Linwë? Linwë!" As the auburn haired child pitched forwards, Veryatur scooped him up into strong arms, holding him as though he were an infant. "Perhaps you will not need that sleeping draught."

Resting his head against the muscular chest, Linwë fought to stay awake, but it was a battle he was swiftly loosing. "It was the…the truth, Ve. I am. Really."

"I know you're sorry," Veryatur murmured. "You always are."

With a long sigh coloured with all the pains and frustrations of a lifetime, he carried his sleeping brother through the trees and along the path towards the camp. The other children followed a few paces away, silent, afraid to break it. Veassen kept his eyes fixed unwaveringly upon the snowy floor, but one hand snaked up to hold his sister's. He thought for a moment that she might pull away, but he received a reassuring squeeze from the maiden and a gentle smile caught in his peripheral vision. They walked quietly underneath the boughs of snow-laden trees; and in the large clearing they had left behind, a sheet of ice cracked with a horrible shriek and broke up amongst the water, the very place where three Elflings had lain not long ago.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Well, I guess I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed with the amount of feedback I got for the last chapter. One review (thank you, Vanafindiel) isn't really incentive to keep on writing and posting, which is partly why this chapter is so much later than usual. I just haven't felt motivated because I know people are reading because I look at the stats, but I have no idea what you think because I'm not being told. One would assume you like it as otherwise you wouldn't still be reading, but I could be very wrong in that assumption. Now, I'm not one of those authors who begs on her hands and knees for reviews, but if I can get just a little more feedback than I have been getting so far, I'd be very happy. It doesn't take long to leave a review, so if you do have the time, I'd be grateful for anything you have to say. **

**See you next time, **

**Misto.**


	8. To Lose Innocence

**8**

_It is dark in here. My Elven eyes are only just beginning to adapt to the gloom, but my other senses have become suddenly heightened so that I know my surroundings even without sight. Walls like great stone waterfalls rise up on all sides, and I feel them pressing in upon me. I want to scream in this small, enclosed space, yet I dare not. I must not. There is a smell… I cannot name it, but something died in here a long time ago. The rotting stench mingles with bat droppings and damp. At first it made me nauseous, but I am used to it now and can bear it if I keep my mouth closed. _

_I am hidden behind the women with the other children, and I cannot help but hold onto Nana's skirts. I can feel her trembling, and I know that she is as afraid as me. An Elfling is quietly crying. Everyone has tried to hush him, but Castien's tears just won't stop. I don't blame him this time, though. I think that fear itself has stopped my tears falling. I did cry when it first happened, when the scouts returned and…_

"I win," Veassen smirked.

Thranduil studied the cards his friend had lain down in the grass, shaking his head slowly as he struggled to comprehend how it was possible that he had lost again. "I don't understand this game. I think that you must be making up the rules as you go along. You have won every time since you stole these from your sister."

"I must be lucky," the other Elfling suggested with that triumphant smile.

"No-one is that lucky," Thranduil muttered. He threw his cards down, casting them a baleful look as they hit the ground. "I am forfeiting this game. I think that you are a cheat… Oh, look. The scouts have returned. Perhaps we can move on now."

"Calenardhon is the dullest part of this journey so far. Plains and rolling plains, so far as the eye can see. It would not be so awful if our parents allowed us to gallop ahead, but…they…" Veassen's words trailed into silence, and he got uneasily to his feet, eyes trained upon a group of Elves surrounding the scouts. "What is going on? Is that… Valar, is that blood on Megildur's arm?"

"It looks like it," Thranduil replied quietly. "Come, we should go to them."

Cards forgotten on the grass, the boys made their way back towards the main company. Even before they reached it, they realised with similar jolts of horror what was happening. Snatches of conversation from the adults, raised and panicked voices from the other children, told them the truth in an instant. An Orc encampment lay less than a league away, old and abandoned. They stood directly in its path, and that meant only one thing: the Orcs were marching in their direction.

_No-one knew what to do then. They all looked to my father for guidance, and for the first time since leaving Lindon, I could see that he did not wish to be a leader, that he would rather someone else had his position. He gave orders for the women and children to seek shelter whilst the warriors fought, but his plan had a flaw. We have been travelling through Calenardhon, the land belonging to the Men of Gondor, for days now. It is a vast and rolling grassland, and shelter is a rare thing. I thought we would die then, unless by some stroke of fortune the Valar made for us a cave. _

_They did not, but Rochendil remembered one set amongst a great hill, less than a mile from where we stood. There was some hope for us, and Veassen finally had his wish granted: our parents let us gallop. I wish we can do so again. Flying across the plains with fear in our hearts and enemies on our heels must be so very different than a carefree ride with friends. Very different. _

_I can hear the sound of swordplay now, and I hide my face in my knees, pulled close against my chest. The fight is drawing closer, and that must mean that the warriors are losing ground. There are only eight of them; or, there were eight of them. Some may be dead by now. Tears well up in my eyes, but I do not blink them away. Why should I? It is dark, after all. No-one can see. As I silently cry, surely not the only one to do so, I look down at my hand, nearly invisible in the gloom, and remember the last time I saw my father. _

"Come on," Oropher breathed. Even as his son began to dismount, he grabbed the child's wrist and pulled him the rest of the way down, pausing only briefly to steady him before dragging him towards the cave mouth just feet away. Felith ran at his side, deathly pale but quietly determined. He trusted her to remain calm for the Elfling, and knew that if the defences fell, she would take measures to ensure that the Orcs did not touch their precious boy.

"Ada, you're hurting me," Thranduil whispered. "Let go."

The dark haired Elf acquiesced, but only to move his hands to slender shoulders and grip hard there instead. "Listen to me, and listen well. This is not a game. This is real. There are enemies close at hand, enemies who wish for our blood. You will stay in the darkest corner of that cave until I – and only I – come for you. Do you understand me?"

"I do. Ada… I am frightened," Thranduil admitted, his voice a tremulous breath.

"You should be," Oropher replied grimly. "I love you, starling."

A bubble of panic flared inside the child's chest, and tears splashed their way down his face as he latched onto the kneeling Elf's tunic, holding him tightly, too tightly for escape. "You are leaving!" he cried. "Don't do it, Ada, don't go. You'll die, and… You can't die! Ada, please."

"Thranduil, be quiet. You must calm yourself. No, don't… Stop it! Thranduil, I told you to stop." As the boy's grip tightened on him, Oropher pulled himself back and smacked his son's hand hard. Blue eyes widened in shock, but miraculously, the tears vanished. "That is enough. If this is to be our last parting, I do not want there to be grief. So remember what I have said, and listen to your mother in there."

"I am sorry… I love you." Thranduil flung himself against his father once more in an embrace, but this time he stayed just a matter of seconds lest he further anger the older Elf before spinning on his heel and running to the rear of the cave. He watched through glistening eyes as best he could as Oropher handed Felith a knife and the two said their own private goodbyes.

_They are getting closer. I can hear them as clearly as if they were right in front of me. Perhaps they are. Perhaps they are just outside this cave. My only consolation in the darkness and these moments of terror is that I heard my father's voice. He was shouting orders, leading the other warriors, which I know he must hate. I would be lying if I said I care. He is alive, and that is all that matters. _

_There is a dim light at the end of the cave, and all of a sudden it becomes blocked by a heavyset figure, the body too large to belong to any Elf. Fear grips me in the blackness. I hold my breath. I dare not release it. Castien's sobs have stopped, so perhaps this intruder will believe that this is nothing more than a long-abandoned bear's den. Perhaps the evil creature will turn its back and leave us in safety. Or perhaps it will not. _

Light flared within the cave, forcing the Elves to raise hands to their eyes and shield them from the brilliance. The owner of the torch dumped it into the ground, replacing it in his hand with a curved scimitar which he tapped lightly against yellow teeth as he regarded the fair immortals. His body was large and grey-mottled, adorned with scars and bites of every shape, size and colour. One of his ears had been bitten right through, and a line of missing flesh criss-crossed its way over one forever closed eye. The other was a deep red, the very shade of blood.

"What have we here?"

The Elven women instinctively moved closer together as the Orc's rough voice grated through the cave, but if they hoped to shield their children from his cruel gaze, they were too late. He had already glimpsed the smaller bodies and terrified faces hidden behind long riding skirts, and the hunger for immortal blood was flowing through him in great waves of tidal proportions. He would feast before the night was over. He did not speak the words, but they were clear as daylight upon his mutilated face.

"Leave this place." That musical voice belonged to Vendethiel, Veassen's mother; it was a painful contrast to their enemy's guttural speech "Leave us, and you will walk free."

"Free, eh? Free to tell my boys I have sweet flesh caught in a net," the Orc rasped. "They'll swarm in here and be all over your little ones. I am alone. I can play gentle. Show me the treasures, women."

"You will have none of them," Felith declared furiously. "We are watched over by Lady Elbereth herself, even in this black place, and ruin will be upon you with the next step you take. Save your life, creature of darkness. Flee while you can."

The Orc stopped tapping his teeth with the scimitar, and bared them in a nasty grin. "Since I don't have no acquaintance with this Elbereth, those rules what apply to you don't hold no sway over me. Let's try it, eh?" He raised one blackened foot and placed it delicately a pace closer to the Elves. "I ain't been struck down yet. Looks to me like your Lady has forsaken you."

With a snarl from a child's nightmare the creature bounded forwards, his curved blade raised high above his head, ready to cut open immortal bodies and spill their life's blood. The young woman who had bonded the warrior Tegalad only months ago leapt to meet him, throwing one arm up and attempting to block his scimitar with her own slender knife, but another weapon appeared in the Orc's hand as though from nowhere, and he thrust it deep into her stomach. Screams came from Anira and Edhilwen as Fainauriel collapsed on the floor with a crimson stain flowering upon her dress, and Veassen's frantic cries joined them as their own mother stepped out of line to defend the children.

Thranduil pressed both hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but every sound penetrated his senses, slipping through the barrier he had created as though it did not exist. Vendethiel was down; he knew that much. At his side, he felt Veassen fighting against his sisters in an attempt to break free and run to their fallen mother, but the maidens held him tightly as they wept together. Their grief and the knowledge of what was to come made the golden haired child want to cry with them, but his emotions seemed to be suddenly paralysed. There was only one Elf standing between the children and the Orc: his mother. He knew that she was going to die, that the foul creature would rip her to pieces as he had Fainauriel, and Thranduil knew too that he could not bear witness to Felith's death. He could not.

The beautiful Elven lady raised her golden head high, meeting the Orc's bright red stare with the sky-blue pools of her eyes. Her body shook with fear and the knife was loose in her hand, and it seemed for a terrible moment that she would let it fall to the floor rather than use it for one last stand against the being that threatened the children and had harmed her kinswoman beyond healing, but slowly she raised her arm. Two things happened; the Orc leapt towards her with those yellow teeth bared, and her slim blade was wrenched out of her grasp from behind and thrust at an upwards angle into the creature's chest. Black liquid spilled down the handle of the knife, and she watched in mesmerised horror as the wounded Orc gurgled horribly in the back of his throat before falling in a heap on the floor.

Time seemed to stand still in the cave and silence reigned throughout until a soft moan smashed it into a thousand pieces. Veassen and his sisters leapt to their feet in unison and ran to their mother's side, helping her to sit up as she touched a hand shakily to her head. When she pulled it away her fingers were stained red from a fierce gash hidden behind the thick waves of her hair. She stared at the translucentliquid as though surprised to see it existed, but the moment her eyes travelled around the enclosed space and fell upon two bodies, one beautiful and immortal, one of darkness, understanding flashed across her face.

"May the Valar bless her," she whispered. Sad eyes glimmering with unshed tears moved towards the last surviving Elf-woman, and a soft smile appeared. "Then you did what Fainauriel died for, what I could not. You defended the children and saved their lives."

"I did no such thing," Felith replied faintly. "My blade cut the Orc's life from him, but…"

Vendethiel opened her mouth to ask who, but the question evanesced on her lips as she followed the other's shocked gaze to a golden haired child standing still and silent over the dead body of their enemy. Her gasp echoed, reverberating in the cave and flying back off the walls, but Thranduil did not even blink. His attention was fixed unwaveringly upon his eerily steady hands, upon the sticky black liquid falling in droplets from his fingers. It was as though he studied nothing more than the game of cards he had been engrossed in not so long back.

"Why did he do it?" Veassen's mother asked quietly. "How?"

The frightened blue pools of Felith remained upon her son for just a second longer as commotion arose from outside and warriors' voices were heard, clear and triumphant. They had won this fight. Fathers and husbands and friends ran into the cave, searching only for the ones they held dear to their heart, and it took a long moment in time for their joyous euphoria to be replaced by the harsh realisation that whilst they had been taking part in a vicious battle, so too had their women and children.

Oropher was not even close to his family when the anguished wails of a destroyed Elf stabbed through everything else. He spun around, and knew in that very instant that the image of Tegalad cradling his dead wife, weeping like a child over her body, would haunt him for years to come. The warrior was incoherent in his grief, rocking Fainauriel back and forth, back and forth. Her silvery blood stained his skin, his clothes, the tips of his fair hair, and still tears rushed like sorrowful waterfalls.

"How did we miss it? One broke through."

Rochendil's grave voice at his ear made Oropher start, and he followed the other Elf's finger to a black corpse lying some feet away. "Valar. We did not see…" Turning his head away, he let his emerald eyes fall shut. He didn't know what to do, yet the duty of taking control fell to him. There was no-one else. "The Orcs will burn. Megildur and Beinian, see it done." Murmured words of assent came in reply, but he paid them no heed. "Rochendil, I need you and Nendir to get Tegalad outside, away from this place. He cannot stay here."

"And the maiden?"

Oropher turned a hard stare upon the warrior, and shook his head slowly. "The women will prepare her for a burial. It is all that can be done. She will never see Greenwood, and I grieve for that, but the forest is yet too far to carry her the distance. I cannot-

"I know," Rochendil broke in softly. "You have no need to explain yourself."

The dark haired immortal closed his eyes once more and released a long exhale of breath, but the calming methods which usually worked so well did nothing to ease his waning strength. Forcing himself to turn away from the scene of grief as Tegalad wept, he walked through the rest of the company in a dazed silence, not seeing the tear-stained faces and eyes still wide with terror in spite of the vanquished threat, not hearing the whispers of comfort as children sought sanctuary in their elders' arms. He just walked. When a hand descended upon his shoulder from behind, he reached instinctively for a weapon, but the eyes he locked his own onto stilled his hand.

"You are safe."

"We both are," Felith said quietly, ending the statement in a sigh as she rested her forehead against his. "But you do not know what happened."

Her tone of voice was enough to make her husband blink, and he pulled away slightly to search her weary face. His own was suddenly clouded with concern. "Nor do I understand the meaning behind your words. Where is our son? Is he well? Did the Orc…touch him?"

"No, thank the Valar it did not get that far. Look behind you," the Elf-woman murmured. "Look at the knife. It belongs to you, meleth-nín."

The white-handled blade plunged to the hilt in the Orc's chest glimmered faintly in the gloom of the cave, starkly incongruous against its black surroundings. "You used it, then," Oropher concluded grimly. "When I gave it to you, I had the highest hopes that I was giving it only as a precaution, not a necessity. I am sorry that this happened, that you had to-

Felith pressed one slim finger against the other Elf's lips, cutting his apology in half. "No. You misunderstand. It was Thranduil."

"Thranduil?" Oropher shook his head in disbelief, accompanying the gesture with a hiss of laughter. "Do not jest. How could he possibly do that?"

"Our company was attacked by Orcs. Our children were threatened. One of our number lost her life and resounding in my ears are the screams of her beloved as he found her body," Felith said coolly. "Do not think for one moment that I am jesting. Never think that."

Husband and wife stared at each other, blue eyes locked against green as silence reigned between them. The world outside theirs continued on, filled with the same noises as before, and yet neither noticed as horror raged within their own. Too much to understand flowed through Oropher's mind, his heart, his very soul. There were words he wanted to say, questions, but every syllable died on his lips. Feelings and emotions fought to take control of him, but they fought each other too, catching him in the middle of a tumultuous storm. He knew that it was true; he knew that no lies had been told, and in that moment he wanted to weep for the sudden loss of innocence that had befallen his son. But tears did not come. Cries from the other side of the cave paused his grief, though the words he heard a second later nearly drew the silver sorrow forth from his eyes.

"She was with child! We were to have a child!"

Shocked gasps flew from more than one mouth, and the two Elves struggling to remove Tegalad from the cave stopped, staring at one another over the top of his head as he repeated himself over and over again, gradually becoming unintelligible in his anguish. Rochendil's eyes flew towards Oropher, silently seeking aid, but the dark haired immortal was frozen. Part of him yearned for his son, to find the Elfling and ease the hurts and confusion, but the greater part knew well that he was needed here. The Sindarin Elves looked upon him as a leader, and if he could not stand by their sides in a moment of trial, then he was not and would never be worthy of their following.

Stepping swiftly around the dead Orc yet to be disposed of, he helped Rochendil and Nendir lower Tegalad to the ground, though it took little effort: the young warrior all but collapsed on his own. Oropher tried to speak to him, tried in vain to calm him and quieten the grief that was fast becoming infectious, but he knew that his efforts were nothing more than futile. He had seen distress on this level before, when his brother's wife had died years ago. There had been only one thing to do then, and there was only one thing to be done now. Hardening himself, he pressed against the weeping Elf's neck, finding the point he sought and applying pressure. Wild eyes fluttered shut in an instant, their final tears highlighting his long lashes silver.

"Was that necessary?" Nendir breathed.

Rochendil gently removed his companion's grip from around Tegalad's shoulder, and lifted the slender fighter into his own strong arms. "You saw him. Unless you had other ideas, I would indeed call it necessary."

"His grief would have killed him," Oropher said quietly. "You have just a few minutes until he awakes. Get him outside where he can breathe, and search the healing packs for medicines. Sleeping draughts, calming herbs… I am no healer, but Nendir, you know something of it. Do what you can to help him. I know that nothing will take away the pain of his loss, but I will not see him fade. Not today."

"I will do my best, my Lord," Nendir replied, his own voice just as soft.

The Elven leader could not find it within himself to berate the use of a title as he so often did. Instead he gave a grateful nod, and watched them out of sight before stepping out into the open himself. In a painfully bright sky the sun glared against his eyes, sharp as a knife after the dimness of the cave. Raising one hand to shade his sight, he let his gaze travel around the plains of Calenardhon. A clump of black staining the greenness passed his vision, and he could not help but wrinkle his nose at the putrid smell drifting through the air which announced the slain Orcs. He knew it would become a hundred times worse when the vile creatures burned, but with any luck, his company would be far away by then.

Above and around the cave stood a great hill, surrounding the enclosed space like a blanket of grass, and Oropher's emerald pools rested there. Occasional glints of gold at the top of the green mount announced the whereabouts of his only child, and it was with a deep sigh that he began the escalation himself. He would never blame Thranduil for wanting to be so far apart from the others. Had it been him, the father did not doubt for an instant that he too would seek solitude in an attempt to sort through the multitude of plaguing thoughts which surely must haunt such a young mind.

Upon reaching the crest of the hill, he went no further. He stood in silence, watching through eyes clouded with worry, not daring to take another step lest he disturb the young immortal sitting cross-legged in the grass. The child's face was turned away, but Oropher felt sure that tears would exist upon the smooth cheeks. How could they not, after such an experience? _Valar, he is just a baby, really. So small…How could it be that my little son has suffered the loss of innocence already? _Releasing another sigh, inaudible this time, the Elf mentally prepared himself to continue forwards and begin a conversation which he knew well would be one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

"Hello, Ada."

Oropher could not help but be surprised at the youthful voice which slashed the silence in two, but he understood as he realised that his son's turned head was facing the grey image of his shadow in the grass. Drawing a breath, he took a few steps and knelt at the boy's side. "Hello, Thranduil." He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all; it sounded as though they were set to discuss nothing more than the weather! "I am not going to throw hundreds of words at you. I will listen, if you want to say anything."

"Should I?"

"I think so," Oropher replied quietly. He studied his son's face in silence, and felt a sudden ache above his heart as he looked into those bright azure eyes: they were empty of grief, devoid of tears, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Perhaps you do not recall, but I told you some weeks back in Eriador that you can tell me whatever is in your mind. Do you not remember, starling?"

"No, I have not forgotten that. And I am sorry," Thranduil murmured. "I am very sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" the older Elf questioned softly.

The golden head bowed slightly, the deep eyes of the child fixed intently upon his clothes. Though the object of his attentions confused his father, Oropher waited in silence rather than push for an explanation. It came, but the words did nothing to alleviate the lack of understanding. "My tunic is dirty," Thranduil said eventually. "Did you notice?"

"I did…"

"Are you angry?"

"Why would I be?"

As though the answer surprised him, Thranduil looked up with wide eyes. "Well… I made it dirty, Ada. My tunic, I mean. It was clean on this morning when we broke camp and now I've made more washing for Nana and… She won't be happy. I tried to clean it, but I couldn't. I just…couldn't, and I-

"Stop," Oropher broke in quietly. He caught the child's slender shoulders, stilling all movements and forcing his son to look up at him. "After what has happened, you truly believe that I care? That your mother will care? That we will be angry because your tunic is…" Black stains upon the light material entered his vision, and he swallowed down the revulsion which swept over him. "You are in shock. I do not fault you for that."

"No, but the tunic is very dirty," Thranduil sighed. "It's my hands. There is something on them that I can't get off, no matter how I try. It is sticky and foul-smelling and I hate it. I feel as though I will forever be tainted with it, however much I wash."

"What is it?" Oropher pressed. "This black liquid upon your hands?"

"Blood."

"I see." The dark haired Elf nodded in calm understanding, but it was all he could do not to shake his son, shake out some emotion – any emotion. "And tell me, to whom did the blood belong? It cannot be yours, can it?"

"The Orc," Thranduil explained slowly. "The Orc that I…"

"That you what?" Oropher's voice was just a breath of air, and again he found himself exerting all of his willpower to refrain from physically dragging swifter replies from the child. He wanted so desperately to know every chapter of the story, but patience had never been a virtue of his. "Tell me, child. Tell me what happened."

"The Orc that I killed!"

All of the paralysing shock and numbness which had held emotions at bay vanished at the cried words, and Thranduil pressed the back of one forearm to his eyes, hiding the tears from his father, turning his face away to conceal grief. A strong hand tried to touch his shoulder, to offer what the owner must have thought was much needed comfort, but he flinched away, distancing himself from the contact. As sorrow overcame him and tried to take him over, the Elfling fought hard against it, battling away the frightening sensations he had never before known. Breathing deeply, he swallowed the feelings down and blinked furiously to vanquish the tears. They rebelled and continued to exist, but it was enough for him that they did not spill.

"My little one," Oropher murmured. Parental instincts screamed at him to take the boy into his arms, but he knew he would only meet rejection. "I will not pretend that I understand. I have killed before, but always with my childhood far behind me. And although I admire your bravery, I will always pity you this."

"Bravery?" Thranduil repeated in a whisper. "Ada, no. I wasn't being brave. It was selfishness that made me do it. I had seen the Orc kill Fainauriel; I saw him throw Vendethiel across the cave and I heard Veassen's sobs next to me. I didn't want that…the image of my mother being stabbed or beaten by a creature of evil and darkness, stuck inside my head and my heart forever. I knew I wouldn't be strong enough to bear it, so I just... She wasn't moving. She knew that she was going to die; she must have been frozen by her fear because she was so slow and…and_ I_ knew that if she did not save herself, I would lose her. I don't remember taking the blade or even using it. I just know that I did, that I had to."

"And in doing so, you saved her, you saved yourself and you saved the other children," Oropher concluded quietly.

Thranduil shook his head slowly, and his eyes returned once more to the stains colouring his hands and clothes in one monotonous shade. He seemed suddenly tranquil once more, as though all of his emotions had been used to conceive the recollection and were no more. "I have never killed before," he said, his voice hushed. "In Lindon, if Saeldur saw a spider he would step on it and kill it, but I would always put it outside if I could. And birds… You and Uncle Vehiron went hunting at times, and I hated the idea of you shooting animals and making them suffer. Now I have killed, and that confuses me. Am I evil? Will the Valar hate me for what I have done? Should I be punished?"

"Orcs are evil," Oropher amended sharply. He knew that anger shone through in his tone, but he made no attempts to soften it. "I understand your confusion, but you cannot justify your words. Those creatures, those minions of Sauron, would drink your blood if they caught you. Be certain that the one you brought down did not have good intentions. He would have-

"But I killed him," Thranduil broke in.

"And he killed Fainauriel! What makes you think that he deserved to live?" the dark haired Elf hissed furiously. "Answer me! Why are you silent? Why do you give no reply? Because you know you are wrong. Is that not so? Valar, that a child of mine should be doubtful of an Orc's colours is beyond me. You even said yourself that they are creatures of evil and darkness, so why…? I wish that I understood you. I really do."

"That is not what I mean. Yes, he deserved to die, and he had to because otherwise we would have been killed instead, but you and Nana have always told me that violence is wrong, no matter what form it comes in. I committed an act of violence today. If what you say is true, then I have done wrong. If not, you have been lying to me," Thranduil said softly. "Have you, Ada? Is violence wrong or is violence right?"

"It is wrong," Oropher ground out, "but it is right if used for protection and defence."

The child considered the words in silence, and moments passed before he shook his golden head and gave an almost inaudible reply. "You never told me that, so until I can atone for my act of violence and start again, it will continue to be wrong. I am sorry, Ada. I see in your eyes that you are furious, but I cannot change my feelings any more than I can fly. And we both know that is impossible."

Silence wrapped itself around the hilltop like an impenetrable blanket, and the two immortals turned their eyes away from each other as its hold tightened upon them. The corpses of Orcs far below painted the grassland in a single shade of darkness, and above the bodies rotten from birth, black feathered scavengers circled their way lower and lower. Some hit the ground with well-aimed arrows through the throat, but the travelers found themselves too struck with grief and consumed by a hundred other emotions to expend more energy than was necessary, and in no time at all, vultures reached their destination and began a feast that would leave them unable to take to the sky for some hours.

Oropher's lip curled in disgust, and he rose with a quiet hiss. "We have to leave this place, and we have to leave it soon. Fainauriel's burial will take place within the hour. I would see you there as she is put to rest, but somehow I do not expect that wish to be granted. You will be too busy making your amends and atoning for your 'act of violence', is that not so?"

"I am sorry," Thranduil whispered. "This is what I have to do."

"Very well. But know that you will be alone," Oropher murmured, the flash of his eyes betraying his calm voice. "None will help you."

No reply came, but no reply was needed. Yes, the Elfling was quite aware that the rest of his time in this blood-stained part of Calenardhon would be spent in dark solitude, but he could not make himself see what he knew his father wanted him to. All he could be sure of was that he had killed, and the black liquid stained upon his hands would remain there until he did something to make it all better. A shadow moved away down the hill, caught just from the corner of his eye, and he could not help the soft sigh that fled his lips. He did not expect anyone to understand.

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Thranduil waited until the shadow was far out of sight before rising himself and making his own descent down to lower ground. The snows and icy frosts were no more, replaced instead with biting winds which whipped his hair and cloak, and torrential rains which slammed hard against those denied cover and stung any bare skin they touched. Today there was neither wind nor rain, but black clouds drifting slowly but ever so surely across the plains and shielding the face of the watery sun, foretold the weather's temperament in an instant. On any other day and at any other time, the child would have bemoaned the inevitable cold and damp, but now he found himself unable to care. The darkness in the sky mirrored his mood. It mirrored it well.

At the entrance to the cave he paused, glancing over his shoulder to the immortals gathered some distance away. Most were sat upon the floor with dazed expressions worn on their faces, as though the ordeal was only just impacting upon them, but some movement did exist. Oropher and Felith stood a short way apart, talking together in quietly urgent tones. Thranduil smiled bitterly. Only one guess was needed to know the subject of their conversation. Letting the curve of his lips fall once more, he stepped into the dim gloom of the cave, and immediately shielded his eyes. The torch, dumped into the ground in a time which seemed ages back, burned still, its orange flames painfully bright against the black walls and cavernous heights. Its glare illuminated a large shape in the middle of the floor, shiny with blood not yet dried, and the hilt of an Elven blade still embedded in a motionless chest.

Slowly lowering his hand, Thranduil continued forwards until he stood over the Orc's body. Swallowing down the fear, he leaned down so that his fair face and the dark one below him were just inches away. "I am not sorry," he breathed. "I would do it again to protect my mother and friends. Don't think that just because I am doing this, I regret taking the knife. I don't. I am glad that you are dead. I'm glad."

As he uttered those final words, a shadow passed across the dead creature's face, contorting the slack features into a nasty grin. With a strangled cry and a gasp of horror, the child leapt backwards, the pounding of his heart heavy against his chest. The realization that life had not suddenly flowed back into the Orc came a long moment later, when a second breeze from outside blew the torch's flames, sending wild shadows over everything within reach. He laughed softly. He found nothing amusing, nothing amusing in the slightest, but he had to break the silence with something other than his own terrified heavy breathing.

"How could it be alive?" he softly chided himself. "You killed it. And that's why you are here now."

Kneeling upon the floor in the dimness, Thranduil cleared it of stones and pebbles, pushing all of the hard debris to one side until he had before him a wide patch of earthen ground, large enough for his intended purpose. He let his hands rest just above the brown matter, taking the moment to draw in a deep breath and prepare himself for the task which lay ahead. He could walk away. Get up, wipe the dust from his clothes and leave the cave. It sounded so very easy when he thought it, but following through with the motions seemed an impossible thing. His father may not understand him, none at all may understand him, but he had to do this. He was going to bury the Orc, and his inability to forsake the self-inflicted penance was evidence enough that it was right.

With those words repeating themselves silently inside his head, the child began to dig with his bare hands, grabbing handfuls of earth and dirt and flinging them away, mindless of the stains appearing upon his clothes. They were filthy as it was; a little more would make no difference. He worked as hard and as swiftly as his young muscles would allow, ignoring the strains put upon them. Digging a grave with no tools took time, he was sure, and time was not on his side. Oropher was eager to be free of this place as soon as possible, and the company would move on regardless of whether or not the creature who had slaughtered Fainauriel was buried.

Thranduil paused to brush loose strands of hair off his face with the back of one dark-streaked hand, but the moment he resumed his work, they fell down a second time to obscure his vision. Coming close to hissing an obscenity he had once heard from his cousin's mouth, he raked the golden irritations back with his fingers, and immediately froze in that position, eyes widened in surprise. He was being watched. A pair of cool green eyes studied him from the entrance to the cave, their owner silent. Jade met azure, and the quiescence continued as Linwë came forwards, pulling from his pocket a thin leather cord and holding it out to the younger child.

"For your hair," he said quietly.

With only a nod of thanks, Thranduil took the tie and put it to use in silence, before bowing his head once more to continue his work. He expected Linwë to turn around and walk into the daylight, but a pair of hands joined his in the earth, scooping the dirt up and depositing it in a separate pile to one side. Although he blinked in surprise, he inaudibly forbade himself from speaking. He kept his eyes lowered, waiting for the other to make some sort of communication, but none came. Peace reigned throughout the cave, broken only at intervals by the gentle smattering of soil as it fell upon the ground, and he glanced up every so often through his long eyelashes to surreptitiously study the boy who had once been his friend.

Flames from the torch flickered wildly, casting shadows upon Linwë's face, rendering it unreadable in the changing lights. He looked deep in thought; and indeed, when he opened his mouth to finally speak, his voice was slow, contemplative. "My parents died a few years ago. I was much younger. So much so that I have only a few memories of them," he murmured. "I think perhaps it is better that way. The pain I feel is less than my brother does, because he knew them for a longer time. In a perfect world, of course I would never have lost them at all, but… The world isn't perfect."

"No," Thranduil agreed softly. His gaze touched briefly upon the spot where Fainauriel had been killed just a short while back. "I don't suppose it is."

"It was my fault. My remaining family always tried to tell me differently, but I know. They would still be here if not for…" Linwë flung a handful of dirt over his shoulder, accompanying it with a sharp hiss. "Before he had to assume responsibilities, my brother was quite like me. He would get himself into trouble, but was always afraid of facing the consequences of his actions. I suppose it was easy for him to pass the blame onto the youngest, and that was what he did. All the time, he would make our parents believe that I was guilty for his crimes. But I never was. Never.

"One day, my father sent me to bed without supper. I don't remember what Veryatur did – or, what I had supposedly done – to infuriate him so; all I recall is him shouting at me so much that… Anyway, I ran to my room and cried for a while, but eventually I was overcome with anger. I was angry with Ada and angry with Veryatur; I just didn't want to be there. So, I climbed out of my window. I took Ada's horse and I made it out of Lindon. Do you know the trade entrance to the city?"

Thranduil nodded once. "Of course."

"It was close to evening, so there were few merchants using it. Nobody noticed me or paid any attention," Linwë continued, his voice hushed as he dug. "I will never know how long I rode for, nor where I ended up when I realized that I was lost, cold, hungry and surrounded by enemies. The Orcs killed my father's horse, made me watch them eat the meat and… You don't need to hear what happened to me. To be honest, I barely remember myself. Something like that I should know, but it is as though my mind refuses to let the memories in. All I am sure of, though, is that I was hurt. When my mother and father found me, ahead of the soldiers sent by High King Gil-galad, I was close to death. And that was when the Orcs cut them down."

"Your parents," Thranduil clarified quietly. "If they were killed by Orcs and you nearly lost your life, why are you here now? Why are you helping me?"

Linwë raised just his eyes from the shallow pit they had scraped away, and gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Wait. The soldiers arrived in time to save me, but they were too late for my mother and father. I was taken back to Lindon and put in the care of my grandmother for a short while. Short, because I lost her too. Do you remember the human who was put on trial for the murder of a female Elf? No, you wouldn't. You are younger than me. Never mind. That female Elf was my grandmother."

"No, I do. My cousin told me," Thranduil murmured. "Valar, I didn't know that…"

"You have stopped digging," Linwë observed quietly. "If you want to bury that Orc, you should not stop. Anyway, my other grandparents died before I was born, in the Fall of Doriath, so the task of raising me fell to my brother and sister. Neither were children any longer, so they needed no care from an adult. I suppose they took on the roles of mother and father, though I always knew they hated it. Laire was not as transparent; I could see all along that Veryatur resented me for stealing his parents, his youth, his freedom. That was never my intention, but it happened and it cannot be changed.

"Whilst my siblings took on unwanted responsibilities, I became unruly and disobedient. I defied them, I tested their tempers, I was awfully behaved and…" Linwë shrugged, a humourless smile pulling his lips upwards. "I will not make excuses, but I think the reason behind my change was fair. Any Elf who witnesses his parents killed at the hands of Orcs is bound to be affected."

"Of course," Thranduil nodded concurrence.

"I continued to be that way until recently, when your father announced he would be leaving Lindon. Laire didn't want to go. She feared what lay beyond the city walls, but Veryatur persuaded her. He said it would be a new start," Linwë continued darkly, as he threw earth and dirt over his shoulder. "He said we could begin again in a new home, far away from all the memories, and perhaps that would change things for the better. Of course, a matter of days after the decision was made, we lost our sister. Her heart was captured by the sea, and it was then that I pushed you away."

At those words, Thranduil stopped his digging to regard the auburn haired child. He felt his heart hasten its beat, but he swallowed to keep himself calm. "Yes. You did."

"Do you know why?"

"I had ideas."

"And I expect all of them were wrong. Thranduil, I didn't have friends in Lindon and I know that you didn't either. Do you remember the first time we met?" Linwë asked quietly. "It was when we were introducing ourselves, just before the Ered Luin. I said we could be friends. I did mean that, but it…it frightened me. Everyone I care about, I lose. My parents, my grandmother. That was why I walked away so swiftly, lest my mind changed. Unfortunately for you, we arrived in Mithlond shortly after. The incident with Laire was confirmation for me that we could never be friends. I realized that one day something would happen, and I would lose you too. I didn't want to be put through that. I was trying to protect myself from the pain, and you from whatever might befall you as a consequence of being around me."

Thranduil sat back on his heels, the grave forgotten, and his blond head shook slowly. "Then, you believe that people die or are taken away just because they have some connection to you? That's…foolish. I am sorry, Linwë, but things happen. You cannot blame yourself for the past any more than you can hold yourself accountable for what will take place in the future. If you do, you'll grow up alone and unhappy. Do you want that?"

"It seems the safer option," the older boy muttered with a sad smile. "Safer for those close to me, at least. That was why I spoke so spitefully to you at the lake in Eriador. I knew you still hoped that we could reconcile, and I thought that if I could dash those hopes so that you wanted nothing more to do with me, you'd be safe. Now do you understand why I could not meet your eyes? Because I didn't mean the words. I said them, but they held no truth. I'm sorry."

With a soft sigh, Thranduil leaned across the pit separating him and Linwë, and touched a hand to the other's shoulder. "If you want my forgiveness, you have it. I just wish that you had not kept this to yourself for so long. You must have been very lonely."

"I am used to solitude, so that was easy enough to bear, though sometimes it was difficult to watch you and Veassen together," Linwë replied. He paused, and raised his eyes hopefully. "I suppose Veassen is staying..."

"Veassen is most definitely staying," Thranduil confirmed. "But, that is not to say that you cannot be my friend again – if you want to, of course – or even his. He may be cold for a short while, but I am sure he will come around. Maybe your brother was right. This can be a new beginning, but you have to let it happen. You must let go of the past, forget the blame you hold for yourself. Then you can move on."

"That is why I came here to help you in this. And as for being your friend, I would like that very much. Thank you," Linwë said quietly. There was companionable silence as the two reunited boys shared smiles over the grave, but as work resumed, so too did talk. "If we want this finished by the time your father is ready to move out, we shall have to dig swiftly. Perhaps we could find something to help us. Have you looked?"

"I did not think to."

"Then there may be a useful tool lying somewhere close by. I shall look; or you can, if you want a rest from working," Linwë offered. "You have been doing it for longer than I have, so… Are you well? You have gone suddenly pale. What is it? What…?"

In the dimness of the cave, Thranduil's eyes were wide. He wanted to scream warning, but fear and shock held him paralysed. All he could do was shake his head in horror, point one trembling finger over Linwë's shoulder and hope desperately that his message would carry. It did, but too late. The auburn haired Elfling looked around, and although he jumped to his feet to flee, the Orc who had lain apparently dead just seconds before had the advantage of surprise, and was upon him in an instant. It gripped the child for a matter of seconds before flinging him carelessly to one side like a rag doll. Linwë hit the stone wall with a sickening crack; as he fell limply upon the floor, trickles of blood made their way over his closed eyes.

That was incentive enough for Thranduil to snap out of his frozen state. As he sought escape, he opened his mouth and screamed, screamed for his father, his mother, for anyone close enough to hear and come to their aid. He had been lucky once before, but that luck was no longer on his side. He knew that even before dirty fingers tangled themselves in his hair, lifting him from the ground and pushing him against the wall. One bright red eye glared into his, and the Orc's free hand descended upon his throat, pinning him like a butterfly. He kicked, but his efforts were futile. There was no escape. He was trapped.

"We meet again," the foul creature spat. "Just the two of us now, eh?"

"I killed you. I saw you die," Thranduil breathed. "You were dead!"

A contemptuous snarl twisted the Orc's lips, and he jerked the Elven weapon free from his chest. Black blood dripped from it like morbid raindrops, and his tongue flicked out to catch some. "You ain't no warrior, boy. Your strike may have knocked me down, but don't you go thinking it came anywhere near to killing me. You ain't strong enough! And now…now I'll get my revenge. That's what I call justice."

Just a moment before the flashing lights began swirling in front of Thranduil's eyes as the grip upon his throat tightened and tightened, he caught a glimpse of Linwë, crawling away towards the cave mouth. Although all of his instincts cried at him to continue fighting, he let himself go limp in his captor's hold. If the Orc believed he was dead, he might stand a chance. Maybe. Holding onto that thought and drawing strength from it, he breathed as best he could around the large fingers crushing his windpipe, but air was becoming steadily harder to take in. He was going to die, alone in the dark. Blackness began to descend. The last thing he saw before succumbing to it was a single red eye, burning bright and-

Elves poured into the cave from outside, and the Orc was dead before he hit the ground, riddled with arrows and even a slim blade embedded in the back of his thick neck. Gasping for breath after breath, Thranduil slid down the wall until he sat on the hard floor himself, sucking in much needed air between the coughs which wracked his small frame. He raised a hand to his throat, but it was too tender to let his fingers even glance lightly upon the bruised flesh. Water streamed down his cheeks in rivulets; he had not cried during the second attack, but the almost fatal hold upon him had wrenched instinctive tears from his eyes nonetheless. He wanted to brush them away, but the energy for that small motion was denied him as he let his head fall back against the wall.

A voice sharpened by fear called his name, and relief flooded him as he was lifted into familiarly strong arms. He was safe, now. He should never have despaired in the first instance. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing that could possibly hurt him in the presence of his father. Working hard to keep his breaths steady and calm, Thranduil allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into an embrace he had never expected to feel again; as that sense of security washed over him, so too did all the exertions of an extraordinarily long day. In the few seconds it took Oropher to carry his young son out of the cave and into daylight, the child was already fast asleep.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thunder rolled in the distance, the first peal of many, and the Elf studying the graying clouds released a soft exhalation of breath. He wished for rain. Had the sky shed tears, he too would let down the barrier holding his emotions in check and cry for the past, the events of the present, the pain that he was so adept at hiding beneath a hard veneer. His traveling companions could walk past him, even look into his face and not realize that the water upon his cheeks had come from his eyes rather than the heavens. Yes, he wished for rain, but the air was yet dry. Perhaps if he could keep his mask of strength in place until the hours of darkness, that would be enough. Night was another disguise he used to his advantage.

He had stood in solitude for time uncountable, letting his mind run away with consuming thoughts, musings that he should have addressed a long time ago. It had taken years for them to come to him – too many years – and the fear that he had left it too late burned inside of him like a torch. He wanted to be able to resolve the matters which brought about so much pain; he wanted that more than anything else. If the chance was gone, made impossible through his own damnable fault, he would never forgive himself.

Pushing a hand through long locks of hair so brown they were closer to black, the Elf turned to leave his isolated spot and return to normalcy, but the sight which greeted his eyes made him visibly start. "Linwë." The word came out in a whisper. "You are awake."

"The thunder. And the pain-numbing herbs are beginning to wear off. I woke to find that I was nicely blanketed upon a bedroll, but I don't recall putting myself there," the child murmured. He paused, and reached up to touch the bandage around his head. "Actually, I don't remember much. The Orc… I remember that. I know you are angry. I know too that you don't like hearing apologies, so I will stay silent."

"Why do you say that?" Veryatur asked quietly.

Linwë smiled, although it looked more a grimace than anything else. "I got myself into trouble again."

"You did." The darker haired sibling crossed his arms over his chest, and fixed his brother with a look that was close to imperious. "Come here. Now."

At the obvious command, Linwë swallowed nervously, but he knew there was nothing to be done except obey. Getting himself involved in something that had gone so disastrously wrong was a hundred steps too far for Veryatur, never mind the fact that he could never have foreseen the turn events would take. He was also quite aware that he would receive an unpleasant reprimand, possibly even punishment for this latest escapade, in spite of the injury he had already sustained. With an inaudible sigh he braced himself, preparing for whatever was to be thrown at him, but when it came, he blinked in surprise. An embrace was the very least he had expected.

"What are you-?"

"Just listen to me. When I heard the screams and saw you crawling out of the cave with blood upon your face, I felt fear so great that it hurt me inside. You fell unconscious in my arms, and I wept over you as Nendir treated your wounds," Veryatur breathed. "In the moment I thought you would leave me, I realized for the first time how very precious you are to me. I love you, Linwë, and I hated myself for never showing you that love. I may have been your guardian since Adar and Naneth died, but I have been a poor brother. You deserve better."

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Linwë whispered.

Veryatur's hold tightened around the Elfling, and he shook his dark head to halt what he knew would become apologies. "I am glad you did, for I see that we have been given a second chance. The years have been difficult, passed in grief and anger and tears, but I promise you now that we will fight through any obstacles – physical or emotional – together. As brothers. I swear."

"I swear too." Biting on his lower lip, Linwë let silence take hold as words formed in his mind. He thought them again and again, but opening his mouth and speaking them aloud was no easy feat. "Veryatur? I…I just wanted to…to tell you… I…"

"What is it?" the older Elf pressed gently.

"I love you."

A smile pulled Veryatur's lips upwards in a smile that touched his eyes, the first to grace his fair features in longer than he cared to remember, and he pressed a soft kiss upon his younger brother's head. Those words marked a momentous occasion, although he felt a sharp jolt of regret that it was so. _I love you. _Neither he nor Linwë had uttered the endearment since the deaths of their mother and father some years ago. It had been a painfully long time to go without speaking those three simple words.

"Come on," he murmured, pulling away from the embrace with no small amount of reluctance. "Let us return and find something for your head. Were you older, I would give you wine to numb the pain, but Nendir's medicinal herbs must suffice for the moment. I suppose you are too old to hold your brother's hand, aren't you?"

"Not whilst I am still young enough to be forbidden from drinking wine," Linwë smiled, slipping his hand into Veryatur's larger one. "I know how I am feeling, but how does Thranduil fare? I feared for him."

"I do not doubt that. He is well; quiet but well, and that is enough. He has been advised to keep from straining his throat. Speaking falls into that category, although I wonder how easy silence can be for an Elfling," Veryatur mused as they walked across the plains. He paused, and cast the child a sideways glance. "If you were afraid, you and he must have put aside your differences. I am glad of that. You need a companion your own age."

"I am glad too," Linwë concurred quietly.

The siblings continued onwards in silence, each lost in his own thoughts and contemplations, but cresting the hill which led down to their companions brought forth startled gasps from their lips. Less than an hour back they had been a company of sixteen, themselves included. Now, gathered amongst the traveling Sindar of Lindon, was a small contingent of armed Elves, some thirty in number, clad in hunting garb and long cloaks of a grey material, with elegantly carved bows held ready for anything in their hands. Elven horses stood obediently close at hand, horses that Veryatur immediately recognized to be animals used in battle. A frown marred his smooth forehead at the sight.

"Do not stray far from me," he muttered absently.

He led his brother down the hill, and at the bottom they separated slightly to join their respective contemporaries. Linwë glimpsed Thranduil studying the strange Elves with Veassen, and he hesitated for only a moment before walking over to sit with them. He received a weary smile from the boy he could once again call friend, but the inevitable glare from the other Elfling was what he had feared. Although his heart sank, he accepted it with an almost submissive nod. It would take time, gaining anything more than hostility. He could not expect friendship after such a short amount of time.

"What is going on?" he asked softly. "These Elves… Who are they? Where did they come from?"

Thranduil's gaze traveled around the newcomers, and he leaned close to murmur, "Lothlorien." His voice was husky, no doubt from his yet unhealed throat, and he could not hide a wince.

"You are supposed to be silent," Veassen reprimanded sharply. He turned narrowed eyes upon Linwë, meeting the other boy's stare with a sneer. "If you must know, they arrived just after you left to find your brother. Yes, they are from Lórien. A border patrol. They say a band of Orcs was chased away from the outskirts of the realm, but before they could hunt them down, another appeared. We have been offered sanctuary by King Amdír."

"Has it been accepted?" Linwë questioned.

"No, Lord Oropher thought it best that we continue to Greenwood in our present state, forsaking beds, meals and healing," Veassen returned harshly. "Of course we are going to Lórien. You must have hit your head harder than we thought."

Thranduil nudged his friend sharply, shooting a chilly glare in the other's direction. "I know you don't understand-" He paused, and touched a hand gingerly to his hurting throat – "but he is forgiven. Don't make trouble."

"And don't you strain yourself on my account," Linwë chided softly. "Veassen, I only meant that going to Lórien takes us out of our way and will lengthen the journey, especially so if we stay there for a number of days. I don't know about you, but all I want is to arrive in Greenwood. I am growing weary of traveling, but clearly you find it most enjoyable."

"How about you stop thinking of yourself for once?" the younger Elfling snapped. "The soldiers said we do not have to bury Fainauriel here. They are constructing a litter to carry her to Lórien, and she will be laid to rest there rather than in this strange place. That alone is good reason to go out of our way, but clearly _you_ do not agree."

"You neglected to tell me that," Linwë ground out. "How was I to know that-

"Stop it, both of you," Thranduil broke in quietly.

Veassen glared at the copper haired child a moment longer before turning his slightly softened gaze upon his friend. "Fine. For you, I will. But I wish Nendir had not told you to be silent. Then I could ask your reasons for forgiving this Elf. I most certainly would make him suffer a little longer for all that he has done."

"I never did anything to you," Linwë began.

"No, but you hurt someone I care about and that is quite enough to turn me against you. Unless the Valar bestowed a gift upon you at birth whereby you can reverse time in order to go back and change things and make them all better, I have no intentions of forgiving you as easily as _my _friend has," Veassen interjected, his young voice surprisingly cold. "No intentions at all. Sorry."

As the other two exchanged looks full to the brim with animosity, Thranduil rose and crept silently away from them, unwilling to be caught up in a battle which had to remain private. He wanted very much for them to become friends; and despite his youth, he was wise enough to know that it would take a few more arguments and harsh words exchanged in anger before a truce was reached. Best to just leave them to it, he reflected as he caught a glimpse of his father's black hair amongst the Elves, and made his way towards it.

A fair haired soldier with a silver knot of rank upon his left shoulder was speaking in quiet tones to the Sindar leader, his expression grim, but he paused at the gold which suddenly flashed in the corner of his eye. A smile appeared upon his face too swiftly to be genuine, and conversation halted. "Greetings, little one," he nodded. "You must be the brave Elfling I have heard of."

Thranduil looked up at the warrior, and gave a brief shrug of his shoulders accompanied by a shake of his head. Oropher smiled slightly. "He is not discourteous, just helping his throat to heal sooner rather than later."

"I see. A war wound," the Lórien Elf acknowledged. "Do not become accustomed to playing the hero, child. You are yet young. Let some years pass before you take up a blade." He paused, and his silver eyes moved upwards to meet those of the father. "I have a son close to him in age, perhaps a little younger. If my Haldir ever experienced the feel of a weapon piercing enemy flesh before his time, I would be grieved indeed. Mayhap you should keep a closer eye upon your boy."

"Think you that I am not grieved?" Oropher questioned, his voice like cutting ice. "What happened was regrettable, but my wife owes her life to him."

"All the same, I would advise you to take greater care lest it happens again in the future." The fair haired soldier smiled, a mere upturning at the side of his mouth, and turned on his heel. His next words came even as he strode away. "We move out now."

With a soft hiss, the Sinda Elf's eyes narrowed to slits, the dark green irises flashing as their owner struggled to contain his fury. "How dare he? That arrogant, supercilious, conceited…" Remembering just in time that a child stood in his presence, Oropher halted the flow of disgusted words and forced the expression upon his face to soften for his son's benefit. "Never mind. Pay no heed to him."

"I wasn't," Thranduil said quietly.

"No, I don't suppose you were," the father concurred. "Come, you heard his decree. Let us find your horse and we can finally leave this place."

As darkening clouds rolled across the sky and a bitter wind ripped across the plains of Calenardhon, smoke rose above the grasslands. It was putrid and black, its thick tendrils curling upwards and upwards until they reached their limit and faded from sight. Vultures and fat crows screamed in protest as their feast of rotten flesh burned to dust, and the stench of seared feathers added itself as desperate scavengers made futile attempts to best great flames which immediately swallowed them whole. None of this horror reached the eyes or ears of the Elves who had suffered in the Orc attack. Already they had pushed their horses far away from the morbid scene, and were completing the penultimate stage of their journey.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Calenardhon – This later became known as Rohan, but until the Third Age, it belonged to the Men of Gondor. _

**This author's note is going to be a bit of a novel, so be prepared. First of all, I'm sorry for not updating before. My computer got a nasty virus, and it only let me on the Internet for a few seconds before throwing me off again. It's ok now, I think, although it still seems temperamental. Hopefully I'll be able to update on time next week. If I'm a few days late again, I've not given up or forgotten – it's my bloody computer!**

**Secondly, I'd like to say thank you very much to absolutely everyone who reviewed my last chapter, and also to those who have just started reading and reviewed my earlier chapters. Your feedback and constructive criticism has given me more inspiration and help than you can know. I will reply to everybody individually after I have posted this. **

**Thirdly, I was asked if I could possibly make a character list so everyone knows who is who. I understand that there are quite a few OC's in this story and it probably is quite difficult to keep up with all of them, so here goes: (For Elflings and adolescents, their ages as they would appear to mortals is in brackets next to their name).**

_Castien (9) – Younger son of Nendir. Is shy and quiet, stays away from the other children_

_Veassen (10) – Youngest child of Taldur and Vendethiel. Has become close to Thranduil during the journey_

_Linwë (12) – Thranduil's friend, traveling with older brother Veryatur_

_Edhilwen (14) – Veassen's sister, the second child of Taldur and Vendethiel _

_Soron (15) – Elder son of Nendir_

_Anira (18) – Veassen's eldest sister_

_Laire (21) – Sister of Linwë and Veryatur, she stayed behind in Mithlond_

_Veryatur – Elder brother of Linwë and Laire, he is trained as a warrior. It is his job to raise Linwë now that their parents are dead_

_Fainauriel – A young maiden from Lindon, killed by Orcs in the attack on the company_

_Tegalad – A new warrior, he was Fainauriel's husband_

_Beinian – The elder of two warrior brothers_

_Megildur – The younger brother of Beinian _

_Rochendil – A veteran fighter originally from Doriath, he is traveling alone _

_Nendir – Father of Soron and Castien, his wife died in childbirth. He is a healer_

_Taldur – Father of Anira, Edhilwen and Veassen; he is trained as a warrior but was previously an advisor to Gil-galad_

_Vendethiel – Wife of Taldur; she specialises in healing animal wounds and illnesses_

**Well, I think this is the end of my author's note novel. As I said before, I will do my best to update on time next week, but any delay is because my computer is still having "computer problems". The next chapter, just so you know, will actually be the last one (unless I suddenly change my mind and take a totally different path with the story) but the second installment in the series will follow shortly after. See you soon!**

**Misto**

**x-x**


	9. Woman in White

**9**

There was water. It could have been little more than a babbling brook tripping over shiny stones, or perhaps it was a rushing river, taking a journey which would culminate in a meeting with the great ocean one day hence. Whether one or the other, it simply was. The water just existed, wending its way through a woodland of gold, trilling a gentle tune akin to the tinkling of tiny bells. Every so often there came a flash of silver between massive trunks of wood, but then the astounding thickness of those strange trees would conceal the liquid views, leaving only the song and the scent of pure freshness as evidence that the natural beauty lived.

On that warm winter's day, the woods of Lothlórien gave off sweet aromas; early morning smells of newly fallen dewdrops glistening on the unmarred petals of pungent flowers, nocturnal animals creeping into hiding places as their presence was replaced by the distinctive scents of their diurnal fellows. Sunlight filtered through the golden canopy of leaves interlaced high overhead, silent music for dust motes to dance to, and the Elves who had set out from a kingdom far away let the cleansing warmth touch their faces with pleasure.

One in particular kept his eyes turned upwards as they rode along a winding woodland path. It was quiet, with only the horses' hooves to prevent absolute silence, but his companions to either side did nothing to help the sense of peace along. Apart from the occasional murmur from a soldier of Lórien to a comrade, Linwë and Veassen were the only two to exchange words, muttered in mutinous tones or whispered almost inaudibly with frosty stares to lend strength to the only thing they shared in common: animosity.

"I dislike this place."

"What does it take to satisfy you?"

"I was making a statement. You did not have to reply."

"Well, keep your thoughts to yourself."

"I was only saying."

"Don't."

Although he would not involve himself in their most recent dispute, Thranduil quietly agreed with Linwë. 'Dislike' was the wrong word to use, but the woods of Lothlórien made him uneasy. He knew they were safe and protected inside the Elven realm, but something…something was there. All around him, like unintelligible whispers; touching him with feather-light caresses; inside him, opening doors to the deepest chambers in his heart and mind. He shivered and rubbed at his ears, as though the sensation would all of a sudden cease to exist.

"You feel it too?"

He looked up to see Linwë's green eyes studying him, and smiled ruefully. "I don't know what 'it' is. I feel that there is another presence inside my head."

"Not you also," Veassen groaned. "I expected it from him, but I did think you might have more sense."

"It is real," Thranduil muttered. "Very real."

A shadow fell over them after his words, and three youthful faces turned upwards to see a red headed warrior upon a black horse draw up to ride with them. "Of course it is real," he concurred softly. "Lady Galadriel comes here to Lórien often from Eregion, just over the Misty Mountains. I believe it is safe to assume her presence is amongst the trees now. You have heard the tales, is that not true?"

"Did you ever meet her, Rochendil?" Linwë asked breathlessly.

The veteran soldier arched an eyebrow at the childish inquisitiveness and lack of an answer, but he graced his listeners with a reply nonetheless. "Once. I have seen some thousands of years already, and I served as a guard for the ruling family of Doriath when Thingol was in power; namely Queen Melian. Lady Galadriel spent time under the tutelage of the Queen. I came across her on one occasion, and rest assured that you two are not the only one to experience her…arts."

"I heard she is a witch," Thranduil pressed. His comment earned him a hard stare, and his eyes widened slightly in an instinctive attempt to aid his defence. "I _heard _it. That does not mean I _think_ it."

"Do not believe all you hear," Rochendil chided. "Wait until you see for yourself. That way, you will know truth from fallacy."

"What is she?" The question left Linwë's lips almost before his elder finished speaking, and he muttered a quick apology before ploughing on. "I mean, King Amdír is the ruler of Lothlórien. Yes? But, from what people say, it seems to me that Galadriel – sorry, Lady Galadriel – and her husband have just as much power."

"They are influential Elves with many years of wisdom behind them." The bright haired warrior leaned down from his tall horse, and cupped one hand against his mouth to whisper to his captive audience. "And between you, I and the trees, it is my firm belief that Celeborn and Galadriel will one day become first of all a lord and lady of Lórien, and then much more."

"What will they be?" Linwë asked, nonplussed.

"The Lord and Lady," Thranduil shrugged lightly, the sudden capitalisation of the words evident in his tone. "What else could they become?"

A snort of derision came from the left, and three pairs of Elven eyes turned to meet Veassen's sceptical gaze. "I suppose you can read thoughts and see the future too. I don't think any of it exists, myself. My father taught me to believe only in what I can see before my eyes. There is much more to sense to it."

"I would not call that sense," Linwë murmured.

"No?" Veassen's eyes narrowed as he struck a defensive position in the saddle, with fists clenched and back taut. "What would you, then?"

"Simply a lack of imagination," the oldest child answered casually. "Or if you prefer, a simple lacking in the actual _ability_ to imagine."

As Rochendil smiled and drew back to ride with the other elders, Thranduil let his attention drift away from the feuding Elflings to either side of him. Since accepting Linwë as a friend once more, just a few days ago in Calenardhon, he had become well accustomed to focusing his concentration elsewhere and just allowing the words exchanged in anger to wash over him, unheard and unfelt. His friends tolerated each other's presence with the occasional glower or cutting comment, but he supposed that was better than nothing. It could, he reflected, have been much worse.

A change of motion from up ahead drew his gaze, and he looked up to see the patrol of Lórien soldiers halt their horses in the centre of a large glade through which they had been riding. Nothing else happened for long moments. There was silence, whole and unshattered, with not even a caressing breeze to interrupt it, before flashes of greens and browns and silver broke the golden tree views. They were the garb of Silvan Elves stepping out from between great mallorns, bowing slightly to the newcomers with slender hands pressed against their hearts.

"We are here," the most senior officer declared softly.

'_We are where?' _Thranduil wondered silently. _'Where is here?'_

The Elf who had spoken dismounted, signalling with a flick of his wrist that the travellers should follow his example. "This is where you will stay during your time in the Golden Wood. I trust you will find the accommodation suitably comfortable, and find the rest you deserve. My kinsmen will see you settled, and should you want for anything, it will be given. For your children, there are maidens to watch over them."

Oropher nodded thanks at the words, stepping forwards as he did so to better address the other. "I am not the only one who greatly appreciates this, but mayhap you can answer a question. Where are we to seek the rest you mentioned? None of us were born amongst trees. We are not accustomed to sleeping in their boughs."

"We may be Wood-elves, but not all of us live above ground," the officer smiled. "You may even be surprised to hear that we have houses, just as you did. The few tree platforms you will find were built by the King's son, Prince Amroth."

"In that case, I ask forgiveness for our ignorance. None of us, adult or child, knew what to expect from the realm of Lothlórien," Oropher replied, letting his own lips turn upwards slightly. "I hope that you will convey our most sincere thanks to King Amdír for his hospitality, on behalf of myself and…" He hesitated; 'followers' still did not sound right, and 'people' was even worse. "…the rest." That would do.

"Alas, now I too must ask forgiveness for I cannot do as you have requested. Whilst your companions are free to do as they please, my Lord would meet with you," the soldier apologised. "Now, if you have no objections."

"Who am I to refuse a king?" Oropher murmured.

After pausing to give Felith a brief smile and his watching son a quick nod of reassurance, the Sindarin Elf handed the reins of his horse to Rochendil and followed the Lórien officer on foot beneath the thick boughs of golden trees. They made no conversation, and he took the time and moments of silence to reflect on all that had happened thus far in their journey from Lindon. He mused on the present and the desperately needed respite from travelling that he knew was needed by all, and he looked too to the future and the great new adventure that yet lay before them. He would not rush to get there, though. The worst was over, and he would let his followers tarry in the beautiful woods for as many days as they needed.

Walking a few paces behind his guide, Oropher's thoughts drifted to the strange ailment he had been suffering from ever since stepping over the boundaries of this foreign place the previous night. It was a probing inside his head, almost like another Elf's fingers were massaging him and reaching far beyond hair and flesh and bone, touching upon all the deepest and darkest reflections trapped within his mind. The sensation was not unpleasant, although he would give much to be rid of it. He had heard a word used amongst mortals to describe an affliction of the head, but surely it did not apply to him. _Headache. This implies that the head is sore and aching, yet mine is not. I can think of nothing else to call this…thing. _

"We are here."

Oropher blinked, and pulled his hand away from his head to look at the officer. "You said that before. Where have I arrived this time?"

"Your destination, my friend. Climb these stairs and you will arrive at King Amdír's private audience chamber. There are guards, but you will find no trouble with them. They have been expecting you." The soldier paused, narrowing his eyes slightly to regard the other Elf. "You shall become accustomed to it long before it stops. The unknown voice inside your head, the sensation that someone is reading your mind is what I speak of. I saw the concern upon your face, and you need not fear. Lady Galadriel uses her arts to aid King Amdír in maintaining a realm safe from all dangers. Do not take offence. You are newcomers. It is nothing more than precaution."

"Your home must be free from crime. The guilty would struggle to hide from such an invasion of privacy," Oropher acknowledged, unable to keep a hint of coolness from touching his voice. "Thank you once again for your aid since coming across us in Calenardhon. I am grateful and in your debt."

He bowed his head slightly to the officer, who returned the gesture, and when he raised the emerald pools of his eyes, they fell upon a great tree set apart from all the others by the strange platform high above the ground that his guide had mentioned not so long ago. Elaborately carved steps spiralled their way around the vast trunk of the mallorn, and try as Oropher might to glimpse the place where they ended, he could not tilt his head far enough. Lothlórien and the fair trees which inhabited its woodland truly were awe inspiring in all their majesty.

Drawing in a soft breath to calm himself, the dark haired Elf walked forwards and began to climb the stairs, silently marvelling at their sturdy construction and the anticipated feelings of nauseating fear which did not arrive. He had thought that being a hundred feet above ground with only a young Prince's handiwork to spare him from a fall would have done much more to the pace of his heart, but he felt relatively at ease as he passed through golden boughs and shimmering leaves to a small portico before a curtained door of willow leaves. Three golden haired guards stood in his path and regarded him in silence for some time before moving apart as one and gesturing towards the chamber entrance with the tips of their long spears.

The willow door shifted slightly in a gentle breeze, and Oropher contemplated it a moment before pushing the hanging foliage aside and stepping into the private audience room. At the far end was a single throne set against a backdrop of golden leaves, and the Elf sitting upon it had intricately braided hair of the very same shade. Upon his brow lay a simple silver circlet; though simple it may have been, the light it gave off as it shone and glistened spoke loudly of its worth. Amdír's deep eyes of gray regarded the newcomer, offering a smile of welcome where his lips did not. He raised one hand from its resting place upon the arm of the throne and gave a gentle wave, silently indicating that he should be approached.

Oropher obeyed, his booted feet silent upon the wooden floor of the platform, and as he knelt before the throne and its sovereign, his eyes swiftly took in the others present before him. One he assumed to be Prince Amroth, surely just a few months past his majority, with the King's golden hair and irises of cornflower in a face that must have only recently gained the chiselled good looks of adulthood. Garbed in leggings and a tunic of silver and blue that were just an inch away from casual, the young Elf's head dipped quickly in acknowledgement of his presence. To the other side of the throne was a lady, clothed from head to foot in pure white. The only change of hue was the yellow of her hair, which hung in gentle waves past her slim waist. The very moment Oropher's gaze alighted on her sapphire one, the probing sensations inside his head ground to a smooth halt. He hid a smile. Only one guess was needed to know her identity.

"Rise," Amdír commanded. His voice was quiet, but he did not need to raise it one iota. "Rise, Oropher of Doriath, and be at your ease. I know your story. I have been told the chapters of your life, so rest assured that you have nothing to hide. I had you brought here for casual talk more than anything else. Tell me, your journey from Lindon has not been easy. You must be an Elf of great strength, within and without, to resist turning back."

The dark haired immortal shifted slightly, running through a hundred replies in his mind. How did one answer such a statement? "Perhaps I am or perhaps I am not," he said slowly. "The primary reason I left High King Gil-galad's kingdom was my son. I did not expect to gain a following, but that happened, Your Highness. I could not turn back when more than my own family depended upon me."

"Hmm. Along the way, you lost two maidens," Amdír continued. It was not a question. "They left behind loved ones."

"Yes. We lost Laire at Mithlond, and still with us are her brothers. One is slightly older, the other much younger. They found her departure difficult, and it took a number of painful trials ere they found the strength to continue with their own lives. The second lady…" Oropher could not help but bite the inside of his cheek as the recent death flew into his mind. "Fainauriel has a… had a husband. His grief is yet raw, and I fear for him. It is my hope that laying his beloved to rest will ease his pain, but it is nothing more than hope."

"A final resting place will be arranged." The King's voice had softened slightly with compassion for the tragedies, but the moment his subject of discussion changed course, so too did his tone. "Know that you are welcome in my realm for as long as you wish to stay. Be aware, though, that time in the Golden Wood passes differently to time outside the borders. You may find yourself here for just five days, but when you leave, a month will have eclipsed by."

"Another strange occurrence," Oropher acknowledged quietly

"Indeed. For your departure, when it arrives, boats will be arranged for the journey's final stage across the Anduin to Greenwood," Amdír continued. "If there is anything that you or your people need, do not fear to ask for it".

The dark haired Elf started, and raised one hand in gentle protest. "Your Highness, I fear you misunderstand. Although I did initiate the journey to Greenwood the Great and enlisted those travelling with me, I do not rule them. Many believe otherwise, and perhaps one day hence it may well be true, but until I earn their love and respect, I will not call them my people."

"You will do well," Galadriel murmured.

At the sudden feminine voice introduced to the conversation, Oropher let his eyes graze upon the lady in white. "I fail to understand the meaning behind your words, but I thank you for them nonetheless." He nodded shortly before turning back to face the monarch upon the throne. "King Amdír, I hesitate to dictate to an Elf of your standing, but I have a wife and child awaiting me, not to mention my friends, those you call my people. You said yourself that you asked me here for casual talk, but I am loath to partake in much more if it is to be only perfunctory. Do I have your leave, my Lord?"

"Few would dare to be so presumptuous, but I cannot help admiring that in you. Yes, you have my leave. Return to your family and take some sleep," Amdír replied graciously. He watched through deep gray eyes as the other Elf gave a second bow before striding from the chamber, and a smile touched his lips. "I see now that I did not need as much of your foresight as I deemed, my Lady."

"He is a strong character," Galadriel reflected, her voice slow as she considered, "and worthy of all he will become. Now if it pleases you, King Amdír, I will take my own counsel with him. There is much that I would say."

With a brief inclination of her golden head to the sovereign and his quietly watching son, the lady left the private audience room, the silky material of her white gown like a waterfall of shimmering opals as she glided inaudibly past the guards and down the stairs which wrapped themselves around the great tree. The Elf she sought must have travelled swiftly indeed, for already he had reached firm ground and was following the path leading back to his family. A single thought, fast as a flash and unheard, stilled him where he stood and turned him to face her. His eyes glittered at the unnatural hold which forbade movement, but his voice, as he spoke, was deceptively calm.

"More casual talk, my Lady?"

"You are afraid. You have known emotions over these last months that you have hidden from those around you, for your newfound status of leader gives you reason to believe that you cannot be seen to fear. Such feelings will always be with you, I deem, but in time the struggle will be less a burden as you learn and grow." Galadriel was tall enough that she did not have to raise her eyes to meet the green gaze before her, and she held it unblinkingly with her own. "The obstacles you have experienced since leaving Lindon pale in comparison to those you will face and overcome in your future, yet currently that seems an impossible thing to your mind. There is much more to come for you, and-

"Forgive me," Oropher broke in sharply. "Perhaps you are trying to aid me – I cannot tell – but I have no desire to know my future before it arrives. I would thank you to keep from revealing what you have seen."

"Ah, I understand. You do not believe I know of what I speak," Galadriel smiled. She turned away to study a blue breasted bird, perched silently upon the branch of a nearby mallorn. "You have a son. His hair shares Anor's gold, his eyes are an ocean. He stands thus high-" A pause as she held out a slender hand to just below her waist – "and up until this journey, he was a quiet and shy little boy, shielded from much and kept apart from others his age by you and his mother. Since then his character has developed through new friendships, broken friendships, grief, fear, loss-

Oropher's hand flew up to halt the speech, and although the lady's back was turned, she fell immediately silent. "I know my son," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Kindly cease assuming that you do also. You know _nothing_ of him."

"Were that true, I could smile," Galadriel sighed. During her pause for breath, she looked over her shoulder to lock blue eyes with furious green. "Thranduil is in danger. The path I see for him is a strange one, and freely will I admit that I cannot interpret some of what I have glimpsed. But I would swear an oath that around a corner of his road – perhaps tomorrow, next year, perhaps next century – mortal danger awaits your son."

There was only silence for long moments after her revelation. Oropher felt his heart slam hard against his chest, and he breathed deeply to slow its hammering and calm the raging emotions whirling inside him as the words resounded loudly inside his head. "Do not swear an oath," he whispered. "We both know what happened the last time a Noldo made a vow. Lady Galadriel, you and I will _not_ speak again. Stay away from me, and stay away from my son."

He turned on his heel and strode through the woods, silently seething as he felt those eyes of polished sapphire boring into his back, watching him out of sight and beyond. He wanted to run from her stare, but he knew well that he could run for leagues upon leagues, and still Galadriel's vision would reach him. Speaking of him and the thoughts he kept hidden within himself was one thing, but daring to bring his son into the conversation was… Oropher hissed, and a maiden picking flowers just off the path visibly started at the rage painted upon his face. He made no attempts to soften it. Even entering the glade he had left his companions in and stalking through the gathered Elves to find his family did not ease the tumultuous emotions which crashed through him like massive waves pounding rocks in a storm; and the faces of those he had known and bonded with over the past two months turned away from his fury.

"Felith!" He knew his voice was raised, and the blue eyes of his wife which widened in surprise lowered it only slightly. "Where is he?"

"What? I don't-

"Where _is_ he?"

Recovered from her shock, the immortal woman drew herself up slightly and put a restraining hand upon her husband's shoulder, flashing him a sharp look. "Stay where you are, Oropher. The Elflings are refreshing themselves at the river, our son included, so you will _not _disturb… Oropher!"

Her words made no impression upon the dark haired Elf. He spun sharply to seek his only child, but the youthful face tilted to one side as deep blue eyes regarded him from the trees stilled his movements before he could go any further. "Thranduil," he breathed softly. "There you are. I was worried for you."

"Why?"

"You were not here," Oropher replied, his tone sharper than he meant. "What was I to think?"

Narrowing his eyes slightly in thought, Thranduil stepped out from the trees to stand before his father. "You were not here either, Ada. I didn't run away on my own. I was with my friends, and Veassen's oldest sister came to watch over us. And before I took even one step out of the glade, I asked Nana's permission to go to the river. She said she did not mind, that she would ensure you knew where I was when you returned. I didn't disobey anyone. I didn't break rules."

"I know. I know, and I was wrong to speak harshly to you," Oropher said quietly. "Go on, starling. Go back to Linwë and Veassen. I know where you are now, so that is…fine. Go."

Giving her bemused son a reassuring smile as he shook his head and walked away once more, Felith moved forwards to touch her husband's shoulder, a silent indicator that she was not finished with him. "Well?" Her tone was cool; a rare occurrence, but one that did not bode well for whoever was on the receiving end. "I hope you have an explanation for the scene I just witnessed."

"Nothing is wrong," Oropher murmured.

"I did not ask that. And you should be aware that when an Elf raises his voice to his wife with no apparent reason, something is very much wrong." Moving to stand in front of her beloved, Felith used the tips of her slender fingers to raise his chin. The flashes of light within his emerald eyes made hers flicker, and she almost took a step away. "Please. If you cannot tell me, who can you confide in? What has happened to make your mood swing so rapidly?"

With a soft sigh, the dark haired immortal took the lady's arm, steering her away from the main body of travellers close by to an empty space on the far side of the glade. "Walk with me. I did not mean to snap at either you or our son. I accept that was wrong, and I offer you a sincere apology. As you know, I was taken to King Amdír. It went well, he merely asked some questions. As I was leaving to return here, Galadriel halted me. You do not need to know all that she said. It was mostly assumptions into my mind that she had no right making, but… She spoke of Thranduil."

"What of him?" Felith pressed quietly.

"He is in danger."

Sky blue eyes remained serene in a face of untouched calmness, and golden curls bounced slightly as their owner nodded. "I see. And you took her words as truth, yes? You believe her premonition."

"What do you want me to say, Felith? Neither of us may have any faith in predictions and foresight, but you cannot deny that Galadriel is not renowned for her arts and powers. You know as well as I what is said of her," Oropher answered sharply. "If you wish me to be honest, I will say that I do not believe what she spoke to me, but I do think we should take care from now on. No risks, no gambles. Not when our son's safety is in question."

"Have you forgotten already why we left Lindon? We left for Thranduil, so that he might have a happier childhood, a safer one. Perhaps we should turn around and go back," Felith suggested, her voice bitter.

"Do not be that way…"

Releasing a weary sigh, the lady pressed both hands against her husband's chest, silently stalling his words. "Just because I do not display worry, do not think I feel no emotions. For a mother to hear her only child is in danger – to hear from a stranger, no less – is difficult. And yes, I concur that we should be more vigilant and take greater care with this warning in our ears, but at the same time, I do not think we should overly fear. If Thranduil is truly in danger, why did Galadriel leave it at that? Why did she not tell you more then and there? She is a mother herself, do not forget. If there was something we needed to hear, we would have heard it."

"Perhaps you are right," Oropher murmured.

"The only protection a child needs is a mother and father," Felith replied gently. "Thranduil has both. Nothing will happen. We shall arrive in Greenwood sooner than you know, and we shall be happy in our new home; we shall be happy and safe."

As the husband and wife shared a loving embrace, a pair of solemn eyes turned away from a mirror of translucent water, their deep irises darkened with worry and uncharacteristic fear for the subject of their discussion. She held the position of being one of the most powerful Elves in all of Middle-earth and far beyond; she had been taught by the Maia Queen Melian herself; she knew and understood vast and colossal powers hidden to many others. And yet, despite all of this, she could not make sense of the future scenes she had borne witness to. For the first time in many years, her foresight was not enough to give her the answers she needed, and the innocent would suffer for it. The innocent would suffer greatly.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As evening hues of blue and purple began to replace the brightness of day, the mood amongst the Sindarin Elves was dark and silently sombre. Their second day in the woods of Lothlórien had slowly passed them by, and the time to finally put Fainauriel to rest had arrived. Just hours before the ceremony, her grieving husband had declared he would not see his beloved buried in a foreign place, and demanded that a boat be prepared to carry her to sea. 'Where her spirit may chance upon Valinor', had been his whispered words.

The fallen maiden's litter was borne through the glade by Tegalad, silent now and stoic, with three other warriors, and taken onto the path which would lead to the river and her last journey. The children averted their eyes as it passed, concentrating on mundane tasks to keep their attentions away and tears at bay. They had been permitted to say farewell to the young Elf-woman who had died to save them, but the adults would not allow them to attend the commemoration. None of the Elflings minded. It was not something they had any wish to see.

Fiddling absently with a leaf he had plucked from the floor, Linwë chewed contemplatively upon his lower lip. "We should do something," he muttered. "We should busy ourselves."

"Have you a suggestion?" Thranduil asked quietly, rolling onto his back to gaze at golden leaves high overhead.

"No. I just thought that anything would be better than sitting here in silence and dwelling on what is happening at the river. I don't see why we should be morose. I am sorry for Fainauriel, but we have said our goodbyes. We are not there for the ceremony," Linwë answered vehemently. "Our time for grief is over. I think we should let ourselves move on. Do you not agree?"

"I suppose…"

"You really are heartless."

Both Elflings looked up, the eyes of the eldest suddenly steely as he stared at the speaker. "I would very much like to know why you said that."

"Tegalad's wife is dead. The woman he loved! He may well be weeping over her body to the best of our knowledge," Veassen snapped. "All you can do is think about what game to play next."

"I was not being selfish," Linwë protested heatedly. "I thought it would do you two some good as well."

"How very kind of you," the incensed child sneered. "I will not pretend to know the pain of suffering through the death of a loved one, but perhaps it might do you good to experience such an event so that you might hone your ability to sympathise." The words were just a second out of his mouth when Veassen's hands flew to his violently shaking head. "Oh, Valar. I did not mean that. I didn't… It just came… It came out before I realised what I was saying, and-

"So that you know for the future, I have lost more loved ones than I care to think of," Linwë interrupted. His dark green eyes had widened in horror at the words, but his swift recovery from the shock lent him a voice as cool as a summer's breeze to form a reply. "I understand Tegalad's grief more than you ever will, so do not dare to ever speak those words to me again. Try it, and I promise you will be a sobbing wreck long before I am finished with you."

"Linwë, I am sorry-

"That is a small word, Veassen," the older boy broke in. "Too small."

His expression troubled, Thranduil watched his distressed friend jump from the ground and run across the glade, shoulders shaking and small hands hiding tears. He shook his head slowly. "You were hard on him. He was wrong to say what he did, but I think he spoke in error, of which he is well aware. Were you right to upset him?"

Linwë answered with a nod almost immediately. "Yes; partly because his words hurt and cut me deeply, but partly because now he stands in my debt. Since the incident in Calenardhon, I have had to fight him for my place as your friend. I have been the guilty one, I have taken every bit of his anger and dislike when all I wanted was his friendship too. He knows now that the tables are turned. He is guilty, and I would be right to treat him as he has treated me."

"What are you going to do?" Thranduil asked warily.

With just a quick grin and a twinkling light in his eyes, the auburn haired child turned on his heel and followed the path Veassen had taken across the large glade. He did not need to look in order to know that curiosity was enough to make his friend trail a short way behind, although he did glance over his shoulder to offer another secretive smile. The younger Elfling's mouth opened as though to question further, but the nearby sounds of sadness halted him before he could speak. Beneath the long branches of a mallorn tree, Veassen sat with his knees pulled close to his chest, huddled over them as he let himself wallow in a sea of emotions.

"Are you crying?" Linwë asked quietly.

Veassen's head snapped up as the voice intruded upon his thoughts; though he dashed away his tears, it was too late to conceal them. "I should not," he whispered. "What do I have to grieve? I have never suffered, my life has been happy and my family is whole. I just… What I said… I wasn't thinking, but I know that does not excuse my ignorance. My words are in the open now, and I want to take them back so awfully… No matter how I felt towards you, I should not have… I know what you have lived through, with your parents and sister and…"

"You were very wrong," Linwë concurred as the other child fell silent. "But tell me, what do you mean by 'felt'? You hate me for my recent attitude, so you should have said 'feel'. Those feelings do still exist, no?"

"I cannot…" Biting hard on his lower lip, Veassen raised glistening eyes to glance at the one Elfling who had yet to speak, and shook his head almost fearfully. "I am sorry. I cannot hate him any more. I have no right when I have just said the worst, the cruellest, the most despicable… I don't want to."

"That does not anger me. Did you think it would?" Thranduil questioned with a gentle smile. "All I have wanted since Calenardhon is to see the two of you become as friendly with each other as you are with me. You know that."

Without a further word or change in his expression, Linwë held out one hand, staring pointedly at Veassen as he waited for the next move to be made. There was only silence between the young trio for a timeless moment as brown eyes regarded the peace offering, clouded as though their owner feared the truce would be snatched away from him at any second. Seemingly spurred on by that eventuality, he leaned forwards swiftly, clasping the older boy's slightly larger hand in a tight grip, and shaking it once.

"I am sorry."

"And I forgive you." Linwë pulled back with a self-satisfied smile, and nodded happily. "That was not so very difficult, was it? Although I do regret that the situation had to reach this point. It was just unnecessary trouble."

"None of us are faultless," Thranduil said softly.

Releasing an exhalation of relief, Veassen rose from his place beneath the tree, blinking to rid his eyes of the last few unshed tears. "That is true. Look, I think that you were right, Linwë. We should do something to occupy our minds. We could explore the woods beyond our glade? We have not seen anything but this place since we arrived here."

"Good thinking. We will ask permission from one of the maidens; you should tell your sister we are leaving for a short while. That way," Linwë said briskly, "when our respective guardians return, they will know we are quite safe and have not been taken by anyone against our will. We shall meet you back here. Come with me, Thranduil."

The golden haired child nodded acquiescence as he followed the oldest amongst them to a small group of young women from Lórien who had been happy to watch over the Sindarin children during the ceremony for Fainauriel. Considering his father's strange and unexplained reaction to his absence the previous day, he did not doubt for a moment that simply asking permission would be enough to sate Oropher's worry. Reaching into the pocket of his tunic, he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment to write a swift message.

"Why would you carry that upon yourself?" Linwë enquired with a raised eyebrow. "You have no quill or ink. I see that as a flaw."

"I shall find them," Thranduil answered absently. "Or you will, if your cleverness can stretch much further. Your plan to finally befriend Veassen worked well. That you were calm headed enough to think of it after what he said was surprising, and I did have some doubts that you would even be successful. Forgive me for ever thinking that your ideas are anything but bright."

"My mind is swift," Linwë smiled. "Sadly, that surprises many."

"Swift or no, I am just glad that we can put this behind us and move on," Thranduil replied. "Finally."

"Indeed."

With the appropriate permission gained from the Silvan ladies under whose watchful eyes they and their peers had been placed, the three Elflings met once more and left the glade at a run before their carers' minds changed and they were called back. Stepping outside the thick circle of mallorns and following a winding path through the strange woodland of gold conceived giddy relief within the trio. The freedom which came with being apart from parents, guardians and elders was a welcome change to the restrictions otherwise placed upon them as children.

The afternoon's final rays of pleasantly warm winter sun slashed their way through the ceiling of leaves and branches, and as beautifully comfortable light was cast across their faces, not one of the boys failed to sense the renowned healing properties of Lothlórien flowing through them and washing away unseen travel stains of weariness and lingering exhaustion. One of them laughed as they ran. The musical sound rose higher and higher, mingling with the trills of birds and maidens singing sweetly somewhere close by.

Reaching a fork in the path, they stopped, barely breathing heavily. Veassen glanced in both directions before heading to the right. "The river is to the left," he explained as they continued. "Our parents would not be best pleased if we arrived at Fainauriel's ceremony. And there is something I want to investigate down this way. That voice seems to be getting louder."

"Voice?"

"The one we heard inside our heads on the first day here," Veassen answered, his tone absent as he concentrated on the path before him.

Giving Linwë a silent sideways look, Thranduil reached out and touched the other boy's shoulder, holding him still. "You did not hear it, though. You did not believe that it existed," he said, unable to hide a hint of smugness in his own voice as his words were met with a guilty expression. "Either you have come to realise that we were right all along, or you truly did hear it as well as us."

"Yes, the second," Veassen gave up reluctantly. "I only said I did not believe because I didn't want to be in agreement with Linwë."

"Fair enough," Linwë grinned.

Thranduil shook his head in mild amusement as they followed the path once more, walking between golden sentinels of wood on either side. "I think I have become more accustomed to hearing someone else inside my head, although I could never enjoy the feeling. You are right, Veassen. It does get more powerful as we go this way."

Quiet minutes passed, and the children let their feet take them in a forward direction, almost as though they had no control over their own steps. None of them noticed that the further they went, the less forest noises accompanied them. Birds began falling out of the chorus as though struck down by silent arrows, joined shortly after by breezes and creaking boughs. The only sound, louder than even their shoes upon deadened leaves, was the gentle trickling of water meandering from one pool of stone to another and another beyond that.

"This way," Linwë murmured.

Following his friend's finger through the trees, Thranduil's head shook once more, this time in doubt. "You told the ladies we would keep to the path. To find that water, we would be straying. And do not forget we never did find ink to write a note." Despite the words, he took a step forwards as though gently tugged by an invisible force. "But I suppose if we look, just swiftly, it won't matter."

With barely perceptible nods of concurrence, the other boys left the trail they had promised to stay on and vanished into the trees, not sparing a single glance over their shoulders. Thranduil hesitated a moment, biting on his lower lip in meditative thought, before pushing away the feelings of apprehension which would not cease their plaguing of him and going after his friends. All it would take was a few quick minutes, he inaudibly told himself. _Then we will go back and no-one will know any different. _

A short distance into the woodland hidden by giant mallorn trees, the ground began to slope downwards, its perfect curves forming a circular basin a little way below. Steps built into the grassy walls led to a small hollow, decorated with nothing material and simply adorned with natural features. Chiselled rocks glistened with the water heard from the path, water which babbled incessantly as it made gentle journeys from pool to pool and back again. The trees whose trunks grew this far down were ancient and gnarled, but the silvery gold hue of their bark was no less fair for their age. At intervals, torches of flame burnt quietly around the glade, casting flickering shadows as silent breezes fanned them.

There stood in the midst of all this beauty a strange construction, built up to just past an Elfling's height with thick, knotted stone and an apparent bowl of silver sitting at its top. Thranduil stopped behind his friends, tilting his head slightly to gaze at the foreign device. "What is it?" he asked quietly. "Just a statue or monument of sorts?"

"Of sorts," Linwë muttered. "One of us should look into it."

"Leaving the glade was your idea," Veassen pointed out. The older boy gave him a sideways look and he flinched slightly, clearly still unsure of where he stood in the scheme of things. "I don't mind volunteering, though."

Waiting in impatient silence for his friend to make a move, Thranduil could not help but raise his eyes upwards in unheard irritation. Nothing was happening. Neither Linwë nor Veassen had any intentions of confronting the phenomenon. He slipped between them with a reluctant breath, preparing himself to investigate the plinth of stone and the silver-worked bowl. Fear, unnecessary and incomprehensible, trickled through him, and he could not push the sensation away into invisibility. '_Maybe you are not afraid'_, he reflected, in an attempt to make himself feel somewhat braver. '_Just nervous. That is not so awful.'_

He gripped the rim of the bowl with both hands, pulling himself onto the tips of his toes for a better view. Cold water crept over his fingers; he jerked them back, and heard gasps from his companions at the sharp movement. "I don't know…" Shaking his head slowly, Thranduil glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know how to tell you this, but…"

"What is it?" Veassen whispered.

"A bowl of water. Nothing more, nothing less," the blond child laughed. Turning back to the basin, its silver depths glimmered up at him like a mirror; as he smiled, so too did his reflection. "It is just another strange of part of Lothlórien which we don't under- Valar!"

Images flashed at him from within a pool of liquid no longer tranquil, and he stumbled backwards, away from the memories, the faces he knew, the faces he did not, strange events from a distant time which made no sense to him. A hand upon his shoulder elicited a soft cry of surprise, and his breathing, as he looked into Linwë's troubled eyes, came fast and hard. He did not notice any of it, nor the hammering of his heart which was so very close to painful. Everything was cast into shadow by the shock he had been given from a seemingly inanimate article.

"What _happened_?" Veassen pressed, his voice urgent.

"I see you have come across my mirror."

Three pairs of widened eyes flew towards the stairs and the source of those words, and three mouths fell open as one as a tall woman, robed in pure white with a belt of woven silver around her slim waist, glided into the small glade as though travelling upon nothing more than air. Almost surprisingly, Thranduil recovered first, snapping his lips back together and swallowing hard. Watching the lady approach, he felt a sudden rush of gladness that he stood in the middle of the trio rather than at the end. The feel of his friends' shoulders touching his lent him a slight sense of protection.

"You are her," he said quietly. It was not intended as a question. "We should not have come here, we were wrong to…to pry and… You are her. You are the…" He bit painfully hard on his lip, keeping the word from coming out. Perhaps he was not as recovered as he had originally deemed.

"Do you believe in witches, child?" Galadriel asked serenely.

"Yes." Unable to stop the hot flush creeping over his cheeks, Thranduil shook his head violently. "I mean, no. No."

"Am I a witch?"

Before a reply could form, Linwë surreptitiously pinched the younger child's side, a silent warning against saying anything at all. It was a wise move, so he felt. "My Lady," he began with a winning smile, "as my friend said, this is not the place we should be in. We were exploring the woods when we became lost. A simple mistake, perfectly honest. We shall leave you in peace."

"Hmm. Tell me, do you make a habit of speaking lies to hide an error, son of Calatar?" Galadriel questioned smoothly. Her voice resounded clearly, although she spoke no louder than a raindrop sliding from the petal of an orchid. At the unconcealed shock upon the child's face, she gave a calm nod. "Yes, I know your name, Linwë. And yours, Veassen Taldurion and Thranduil Oropherion."

"Oh no," Veassen whispered. "Are we in trouble?"

Musical laughter rang from Galadriel's lips, and the smile she turned upon them was surprisingly warm in her face of cool porcelain. "If you find your way here, you do so for a reason. Perhaps you have a question to ask or many thoughts within your mind. The mirror will show you a great number of things, although few who glimpse the reflections will understand their meaning. When I return to my own home in Eregion, I shield this place so none can find it. Without my presence to unravel riddles and give answers, there would be many confused Elves wandering Lothlórien."

"Why is the mirror here?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"I made it myself some years back to accommodate for my missing husband and daughter when I am away from them. Speaking with my beloved or only child in here – " Galadriel raised one white hand to touch her head – "differs to looking upon their faces in here." There was another second of pause as her fingers glanced upon the smooth bowl. "Tell me what you saw, son of Oropher."

'_If we look swiftly it won't matter. We can be on our way again in a few minutes. Well done, those plans worked wonderfully,'_ Thranduil thought bitterly. "I don't know." The acidity of his inner voice had bled into the words, and he coughed in an attempt to moderate his tone. "I mean, I saw a lot. There was me and my family, my friends, memories I have of Lindon, a great forest… I saw two ladies, but I have never met either of them. I saw a cave… I think it was a cave… and a small child. He looked like me, I think, like I do now, but it wasn't my own reflection. I also… I saw…"

Galadriel's fingers tightened perceptibly upon the rim of the bowl, and she leaned forwards in something akin to eagerness. "Yes, child?"

"I saw a Dwarf," Thranduil finished. "And an Elf; they were riding together. That was _not_ me. I would not sit upon a horse with a Dwarf."

"No, _you_ would not," Galadriel concurred in a sigh. "There was nothing more?"

"Nothing. If I looked again…"

The lady regarded him in absolute quiescence, although the shimmering pools of her eyes seemed to speak a thousand words where her lips did not. He held the gaze unwaveringly, using all of his willpower not to blink or turn away from that stare of sapphire; he was horribly aware that despite his outward show of courage, his body was trembling. Galadriel did not frighten him. But something…something unnameable existed within her that he knew had the power to shake the minds of Elves far greater than him. A strand of thought drifted towards his father, and he wondered briefly how the one he thought of as a hero would fare beneath the discomforting scrutiny he currently faced.

"Thranduil!"

The sharp voice which slashed through the silence spun the child away from the mirror in horror, but he breathed a sigh of relief as his mother came down the stairs alone. Felith never became angry enough to punish him. It was as though the ability to mete out discipline to her only son did not exist within her, replaced by vast quantities of love and affection which his father was not as adept at showing. Sharing a brief smile with his friends, the Elfling turned to face the immortal woman approaching them.

"Nana, how did you find-?"

"Silence," Felith hissed. "Stand with Linwë and Veassen, do not utter a word. Not one!"

Without waiting to see if her order would be carried out, she walked determinedly to the mirror and stopped just before it, adopting a defensive stance and staring over the unmoving water into Galadriel's eyes. Her sky blue ones, normally so still and serene, raged like an ocean in a tumultuous storm, their deep pools darkened by emotions. Her finger, as she pointed it accusingly at the other Elf-woman, shook with an anger that she seemed powerless to stop. The image of loving wife and gentle, doting mother became history as words of cold fury rushed from her lips.

"Have you anything to say, Lady Galadriel, concerning the wellbeing and safety of my son? If you wish to speak, do so. Cease your guessing games and tell us what you will," she berated sharply. "Do not make hints and give clues to my husband if you will yield no more, and do not ensnare my child in your play – the Valar only know what it is – when he is alone. Oropher told you to stay away. Respect that."

"The children found their own way here," Galadriel said smoothly. "There was no ensnaring."

"That is as may be," Felith snapped. "You failed to turn them around and send them back. Now, my son has protection enough from me and his father. Unless you know our powers as his parents and guardians are not enough to keep this danger at bay, hold your peace and do not forget what my husband said to you: stay away."

The older lady said nothing for long moments, unblinking as she held her golden head higher and regarded the seething immortal before her, an act which seemed only to serve as fuel for the flames of anger. "Duly do I note that," she murmured. "Now I bid you good day."

Felith started slightly at the blindingly clear dismissal, but she recovered swiftly, turning on her heel and striding with Elven grace towards the stunned children who had watched the scene with wide eyes and open mouths. One hand found the tip of her son's pointed ear, and she gripped it hard enough to make him squirm uncomfortably as her other fingers held Linwë by the scruff of his neck. Pulling them towards the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder, pinning the remaining Elfling with eyes of ice.

"Veassen," she uttered coldly. "My hands may be occupied, but do not think for one moment that I cannot arrange it so that I am able to drag you back by your braid. Move. Now!"

With a soft noise of fear in the back of his throat, the brown haired boy scurried past the irate lady and his uncomfortably trapped friends, jumping up the stairs two at a time to distance himself from the threat hanging over his head. Felith followed at a more serene and dignified pace, her two miserable captives in tow, and the furious light within her eyes dimmed only slightly the further away from Galadriel she became. At the top of the basin, once they found themselves back amongst the mallorn trees, she pulled her hands free with enough force to make the Elflings flinch.

"You two follow the path and get back to the glade this instant," she commanded in a voice which brooked no argument. The boys ran before she finished, and she gave a nod of satisfaction before turning on her son. "You stay where you are. I am not finished with you."

Pressing one hand to his stinging ear, Thranduil scowled. He had never known his mother had such strength. "Why did you do that?" he asked hotly. "You hurt me, Nana. It is the same as yesterday; I asked permission to leave, an elder knew where we would be. Just because Ada was not there last time, he thought he could scold me. And because you were not there today, you think-

"Mind your tongue," Felith hissed, kneeling sharply before him so that their eyes were on a level. "You are not in a position to speak freely. Telling one Elf where you will be is not enough, especially if they do not belong in our group. What if she did not remember? What if she left before I returned? I would have no idea of your whereabouts and you would be in a lot more trouble than you already are. As it is, be thankful that your father is still at the river and does not know of this."

"Fine," Thranduil said reluctantly.

"What does that mean?"

"Fine, I am wrong because you say I am. Fine, I am sorry although I do not know what for. Fine!" As he snapped that last word, the Elfling spread his hands in frustration. "I am going now. And don't be angry with me, Mother. I have told you I'm leaving."

Felith let him begin to stride away in a temper, watching his departure with narrowed eyes, but the moment he stepped past her and was within easy reach, she pulled her arm back and landed a resounding slap upon the seat of his leggings. The stinging punishment froze him in place, and he found himself unable to halt the gasp of shock which flew from his mouth. When he turned back to face the one Elf he had always felt sure would never raise her voice to him, let alone a hand, his eyes glistened with unshed tears and his lower lip quivered threateningly.

"Of all the attitudes to have, why that one? You do not address any elder in such a manner, and you most certainly do not speak to your parents with that utter lack of respect," Felith said quietly. "Especially when all they are trying to do is protect you."

"Protect me from what? I thought that arriving in Lothlórien meant that we were safe. Why do you need to protect me in a place that is already defended by the King and Lady Galadriel and warriors?" Thranduil whispered shakily. "I don't understand… At least, I know why you became angry… That was my fault, I was wrong. But why are you worried?"

"It is complicated…"

"You have never been this way before. Am I…?" Biting on his lip, the Elfling cast his eyes downwards in thought. "Am I in danger? Because I thought I heard you say that to Lady Galadriel. It would explain why you and Ada are being so strange, although I still don't fully understand. Is that it? I am in danger? Nana…"

Her son's pressing voice, touched with unmasked fear, jerked Felith's thoughts from her. She held out one slender hand with a gentle smile. "Come to me. I am no longer angry. Now, do you truly believe that you could be anything but safe with me to watch over you? And your father? You know that if anyone tried to hurt you, he would make them very sorry indeed. What you must understand is that danger surrounds us at all times, no matter where we are. You and I are no more at risk than an Elf on the other side of Arda. You have nothing to fear."

"Do you promise?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"I promise."

With a nod of acceptance he wrapped his arms around his mother's neck, offering a silent apology for his previous attitude as well as drawing much needed comfort from her sweet scent of rosewater mixed with the distinctive forest smells of Lothlórien. The lingering pain he felt was evidence enough that Felith had been furious enough to lash out at him, but still he struggled to truly believe it. _That has never happened before. I always thought that of them both, Ada would be the one to lose his temper with me. But Nana slapped me. She actually did…_

"Nana?" he whispered. "I won't make you angry again."

Felith drew away from the embrace long enough to raise the contrite child's chin so that their eyes met and locked. "I hope you can hold to that, my star. I enjoyed these last few minutes no more than you, and I have no wish to relive them. You are a good Elfling. I know that. You just lost your temper and let it get the better of you."

"Will you tell Ada?" Thranduil questioned, his voice still hushed.

"I cannot see a reason why he needs to know about any of this," Felith soothed. "Now, come. It is time for us to go back."

The small hand of her only child slipped easily into hers like the last missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and the fair Elf-lady gave it a loving squeeze as she led her son through the gold woods, tinted dark with twilight purples as the sun faded to be replaced by the luminous face of a crescent moon and winking constellations. As they walked further and further away from the mirror in the glade they had left behind and the eerie quiescence broken only by falling water into glistening rock pools, forest sounds of wildlife and tree song slowly but surely came back into existence, re-entering the chorus as though they had never left. And in that place they had forsaken, a woman in white watched them leave with sorrow in her eyes.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Well, I certainly didn't want to leave it this long before posting a chapter. I had it all ready to go and be typed up, but I must have contracted my computer's virus. The doctor signed me off work for a week with a throat infection, and summoning up the energy to drag myself onto the computer and copy words from a piece of paper was surprisingly difficult. I'm on the mend now, back to work in the next few days hopefully, so the final instalment will be on time. Speaking of which, I know I said this would be the end of the story, but at the last minute I decided to change things around a bit, so the next will simply be an epilogue rather than a full chapter.**

**Thank you very much for your patience in waiting for this; if I've not replied to your last review yet, it's not because I've forgotten about you. It's because my infection has left me feeling still very lethargic and exhausted and useless. Despite that, I am ever grateful to everyone reading this story and hope that this penultimate chapter doesn't disappoint. **

**Misto**

**x-x**


	10. Epilogue: Greenwood

**10**

The temptation to run without looking back was immense. Leagues upon leagues of luscious forest lay in every direction conceivable, decorated with sky high trees of too many different names to know, plant life and flowers of all shapes, size and shade; wild animals, birds, mountains and rivers and deep woodland pools beneath tall waterfalls that shimmered like crystal prisms in the light of day or dancing stars in the dark hours. All of this natural beauty, untouched by the eternally marring hand of urbanisation, ran for hundreds of miles, pure and clean and a refreshing rush of air after long weeks of waiting. It was a healing balm that needed no ingestion. Yes, the Elves who had set out from the breathtakingly different kingdom of Lindon a whole lifetime ago had finally arrived in Greenwood the Great; tears had existed in more than one pair of eyes with their first glimpse of the verdant vastness – tears of overwhelming awe, tears of relief, tears of regret for those who had not made it that far, but more than all else, tears of unadulterated joy.

Stepping over the threshold of the forest a little more than an hour back had brought to the immortals a sudden realisation that their freedom knew no bounds. They saw with stunning clarity, as though their eyes had only just widened, the unacceptable oppression and prejudice that they as a people had suffered in their forsaken home; but this gave them no grief. Instead they wore smiles, and some laughed at the simple ability to do so without receiving a condescending sneer for their trouble. Yet in spite of their blissful happiness, they knew to walk amongst the imposing trees in near silence, conversing only when they had to and using unspoken words if a simple nod or glance could convey their thoughts. For the time being they were strangers in a foreign place, no matter how much it felt like home, and they had the sense and decency to respect that fact for as long as they had to.

Walking with his friends just a short distance from their respective guardians, Thranduil drew his gaze from the green surroundings to glance first left, then right. Veassen's face was yet flushed with anticipation, but Linwë... He raised one hand to touch the other child's arm. "What is it?" he whispered. "You have not been yourself for a long time. Are you still morose about leaving the horses? You know the boats could not have carried them all."

"I know, and I am past that moment of sadness," Linwë replied in a murmur. "It is nothing."

"If you say so," Thranduil concurred.

"I do."

"Very well, then."

"But if you want to know..." Electing to ignore the silent glances passed between his friends, Linwë began his explanation with a long sigh. "I just... Since we left Lothlórien and arrived here, I have been thinking."

"Without wishing to offend you, your thoughts have a habit of landing either yourself or others into trouble," Veassen said quietly. He raised one hand and began ticking off the evidence on his fingers. "That time you pulled out Thranduil's tooth – yes, he told me of it –, the fights you tried to start when you and he were not speaking, your incident on the ice, dragging us to Galadriel's glade-

"There was no dragging involved, and you two were no less keen to go there. And it may surprise you to hear that this bout of thinking will not land anyone in hot water." Linwë hesitated, taking his moment of pause to look around and lower his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that only his companions could hear. "What if we are not welcome here?"

"Why would we not be?" Veassen asked, wariness touching his voice.

"Think on it. We have been in this forest for past an hour now, and the only life we have seen is in animal form. We know there are Wood-elves, and since they have not come out to greet us or warn us away from their home, they must be watching," Linwë explained. "The fact that they have left it so long worries me. I do not take it as a good sign. What do you think?"

As two pairs of questioning eyes turned upon him, Thranduil spread his hands slightly. "I cannot agree this time. I think that you are looking for trouble where there is none; it's the end of the journey so you expect one last thing to go wrong. Why would it? It has taken us long weeks to get here, and along the way we have all been through much; some more than others, but that makes no difference. We have lost friends and family, we have battled against everything imaginable – weather, enemies, our own emotions and dilemmas – but we came through. We came through it all. That gives us the right to be happy. We deserve that. I know the Valar have tested us, but we have not failed them. Now they will not fail to reward us."

"That told me," Linwë conceded with a rueful smile. "I would argue, but none of my words could stand a chance against what you just said."

"It was beautiful and very right," Veassen agreed softly. "You halted all of my fears."

The admiring glances sent his way went pointedly ignored by Thranduil, and he tried to cease his companions' comments from ringing in his ears. He had spoken nothing but the truth, and he did not want or deserve praise for telling the other immortal boys something that was already, without any shadow of a doubt, certain. Their journey was over. They had started a new chapter of their individual stories upon reaching the eaves of the forest, and the pages would only flip forwards, not back. He believed with all of his young heart that nothing but happiness awaited his friends and family in Greenwood the Great. He had faith in that.

The small company of travellers walked on beneath the interlacing branches and brilliantly green leaves of their new home, and the next passing moments seemed to eclipse by in a flash so swift that none knew what had happened until their minds caught up with what their startled eyes were seeing. For surrounding them on all sides, where before there had been nothing but air, was a larger group of Elves than their own in simple tunics, leggings and soft shoes of woodland hues. The warriors instinctively raised their weapons, ready in a second to defend the unarmed women and children, before Oropher called a command to halt, laying his own blades and bow upon the soft forest floor as a silent signal of peace.

Nothing happened for nigh on a minute. The Sindarin people stood together in a tight circle, accepting the scrutiny in stoic quiescence and simply waiting for judgement to be passed. Eyes of polished jade green and unending tunnels of hazelnut brown regarded them from beautifully aloof faces belonging to male and female alike, and still no words were exchanged as long fingers tapped against spear heads. One of the Elflings shifted uncomfortably, studying the rustic weaponry and deceptively strong wielders with a fearful glance, yet still all remained unmoving and deathly silent. Until... Out of the Silvan folk stepped a russet haired Wood-elf, his long locks tied out of his face with a simple rope cord. Balanced in his hands was one of the slender lances clearly favoured by his woodland kin, and he held it in a ready position, his stance that of a fighter and hunter, before leaning down to lay it carefully upon the floor. When he straightened from his contribution to the peace offering, a warm smile was ready upon his fair face.

"Welcome to Greenwood, friends."

**THE END**

Well, here we are at the end of the first story in my series. I will be continuing it; I am writing the second instalment at the moment, which will be posted as soon as I have enough done. I don't intend on it being as long as this one – although this was by no means huge – but the third story in the series is going to be a long and angst-ridden piece. Yes, I know you all enjoy the angst as much as I do. There's just something so lovely about tortured Elves. Hmm, maybe I should contact my therapist. No, in all seriousness, I don't want to be away from posting for as long as I have been in the past. If you can just give me a month or so to prepare something and get it up to the standard I want, that would be great.

Thank you very much to everybody who has read this story, whether you are constant reviewers, occasional reviewers or lurkers. The fact that you take the time to read my humble writing means a lot, and I hope to see you again when I post my next story. Goodbye for now, and it shouldn't be too long before I am back again.

Misto

x-x


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